


Long Live The King

by Fangirl_Shrieks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Book 1: Red Queen, Book 2: Glass Sword, Book 3: King's Cage, Drama, F/M, Humor, M/M, Romance, Royalty, Victorian, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 270,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirl_Shrieks/pseuds/Fangirl_Shrieks
Summary: "You're playing with fire, my Lady," he seethed, "and you might get burned." Feeling brave, Annabeth raised her chin in defiance. "You can't get burned, my Lord, if you're the flame." OR When Queen Athena's ball to unite four kingdoms takes an unexpected turn, Annabeth finds herself in a twisted game of love, war, lies, revenge, and betrayal. And she doesn't like to lose.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase/Piper McLean, Nico di Angelo & Will Solace
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	1. Crash Course: The Unofficial Ch 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted on fanfiction)
> 
> Because I'm creating a completely new world- something I've never properly attempted like this (it's only ever been scattered thoughts, jotted messily on a scrap of paper)- and because it includes so many subplots and characters that I don't want you to get confused over terminology, this is my little crash course for you all.
> 
> YOU DO NOT HAVE TO READ THIS. If you wish, you can skip ahead to the actual story and only refer back to this should you get confused, but if you would like the knowledge ahead of time, here you go. This reveals nothing of the plot, but it instead explains how titles of characters work in this story, as well as what all the kingdoms are, who is related to who, and the time period. If, as I'm writing the story, more confusing details come up, I may update this page, but I will still never drop any spoilers. I will always notify you of any changes in my end-of-chapter A/Ns.
> 
> Of course, if you ever get confused over anything, please accept my sincerest apologies. It's my first time attempting something this complex and it has taken the most planning possible, but it's very possible that I've missed a few details along the way. Always feel free to ask questions via review or PM. :)
> 
> Without further ado, I present this 3am-rush-induced crash course of my insanity:

**Setting:**

The story is set in America, despite the time period, simply because I couldn't bear to throw our favorite characters in England. They're much too American for that and New York is a big deal to Percy in the canon series.

 _Long Live The King_ takes place in the late Victorian era, but because it's not a real story, we're just going to ignore old English because frankly, I don't have the patience to write like that, nor do I suspect you have the patience to read that.

Though America was noticeably less structured than England in this time period, seeing as it was still a relatively new country (and still kind of is), we're going to pretend it's more like London, England in 1878-79 because I'm not about to deal with the real US government and Ulysses S. Grant as well. In this story, the monarchy is a big deal, though America never really had its own monarchy, breaking off from Great Britain's king.

* * *

**Houses/Countries w/ Main Associated Royals and Why It's Valued:**

Ashington (House Name) of Epresh (Country) - Malcolm and Annabeth

Possesses lots of knowledge and war strategies. Books, archives, maps, research centers, laboratories, astronomy towers.

House Colors: Silver and Orange

Calbourne (House Name), Thasite (Country) - Percy and Luke

Possesses lots of boats and ports. Boats, vessels, fishing gear.

House Colors: Blue and White

Langen (House Name), Kreoca (Country) - Octavian

Possesses lots of weaponry. Swords, katanas, knives, bows and arrows, etc.

House Colors: Red and Gold

Raya (House Name), Sumisu (Country) - Silena, Drew, and Piper

fabric and plants. Flowers (that can be extracted for deadly potions, poisons, antidotes, or medicine), silks, satin.

House Colors: Purple and Green

Pevanshire (House Name), Jirot (Country) - Bianca and Nico

Possesses lots of riches. Jewels, gold, silver, useful metals, etc.

House Colors: Platinum and Black

Haersley (House Name), Baca (Country) - Charles (This place is not very important to any plot, but this may help prevent extra confusion. I would not like for me to mention a place and you not to find it on this list of references).

Possesses lots of technology. Top of the line vehicles and aircrafts.

House Colors: Yellow and Pink

**Though there are house colors, the people of that house don't _always_ wear those colors. It's just what they usually wear at royal gatherings and important events, but when in their own castles, alone, they change it up.

* * *

**Siblings (From Oldest to Youngest):**

Malcolm, Annabeth

Percy, Luke

Silena, Drew, Piper

Bianca, Nico

Hylla, Reyna

Thalia, Jason

* * *

**Character Titles (I only kept some extra details that don't spoil anything in the future):**

(19) Malcolm Pace of House Ashington, Crown Prince of Epresh (Soon to be King of Epresh)

(17) Annabeth Chase of House Ashington, Princess of Epresh

(18) Perseus Jackson of House Calbourne, Crown Prince of Thasite (Soon to be King of Thasite)

(17) Luke Castellan of House Calbourne, Prince of Thasite

(20) Silena Beauregard of House Raya, Queen of Sumisu (Used to be Princess of Sumisu)

(18) Drew Tanaka of House Raya, Crown Princess of Sumisu

(16) Piper McLean of House Raya, Princess of Sumisu

(19) Bianca di Angelo of House Pevanshire, Princess of Jirot

(16) Nico di Angelo of House Pevanshire Crown Prince of Jirot (Soon to be King of Jirot)

(18) Octavian Geve of House Langen, Duke of Kreoca

(20) Charles Beckendorf of House Haersley, King of Sumisu

***I've included character ages in parentheses before each title.**

* * *

**How Titles Work:**

Because I tried to learn how monarchy titles work and just got a headache, I figured out my own way to bestow titles. :P I know there's definitely flaws in it. Like for example, if a princess marries a duke, will that make her a duchess instead? But I thought that was too much to keep track of, so here's my system. You don't need to read this to understand the story, you can just accept the titles and understand who rules where and stuff based on relationships, but if you would like to explore the method to my madness, feel free to check out my little guide. Be warned, however, I myself got a headache writing this.

Format of titles: [Name] of [House], [Status] of [Country]

Name: Just your full first and last name. Ex: Perseus Jackson.

House: Name of the House of your family. Ex: Annabeth's family is the Ashington family. So her, her brother, her cousins, everyone who is from her family will be House Ashington. I don't think the House concept is too complicated, seeing as _Game of Thrones_ and _Red Queen_ both also has houses.

Status: Your role as a royal. Ex: Queen or Duchess. There is also such thing as Crown Prince/Princess. This means that if you are a man, you are the eldest of your household and the heir to the throne. If you're a woman, then this means you are betrothed to the Crown Prince of any land, then you receive the title of Crown Princess. Besides the Crown thingy, the only thing in the status that evolves is if you marry into the MAIN ruling positions, either King or Queen. Ex: Duchess of blah blah marries a Crown Prince, who becomes King, and so she becomes Queen of blah blah. If there are no sons in a family, the eldest daughter who marries a man who is not already in line for a throne, her husband becomes the new King.

Country: Name of the country your family rules. This means different things for different genders, however, seeing as everyone is old-fashioned. If you're a man, it's the country that you rule. If you're a woman and not married, even if betrothed, it is also the country of your home. If you are married, it's the country of your husband.

Of course none of this puts the LGBTQ+ community into play (which is forbidden), assuming only heterosexual relationships. I think Nico will be in an interesting position, don't you? ;)


	2. Prologue

To you, hundreds of years in the future,

Though the monarchy is long gone, you must never forget her bravery, her strength, and her intelligence. You must never forget the manner in which she held her head, way up high. Without her, we would have nothing. Without her, the world would have burned and we would have allowed it. If I am forgotten, I will not hold onto any regrets; I am remembered by all those who I want to remember me. But do not forget _her_. She would never ask to be remembered and that is exactly why it is essential that she never fades, another face forgotten in years upon years of history.

You must never forget the blood that was shed, you must never forget the screams of the damned, you must never forget those who were lost in both the wars of the brain and the brawn, you must never forget the tainted path in which revolution was forged, you must never forget the crowns that shattered, nor the antagonists who tried to halt the uprising, you must never forget the tyranny, for change cannot come to be in peace, nor can it be achieved in silence, and finally, you cannot fail to remember hope and the goodness of others. It is the hopeful heroes who transform the world and it is the goodness in other people that drives us forward, no matter the crushing hate of the corrupted.

Additionally, I must apologize for my poor handwriting. Miss Chase would smack me if she read my messy, loopy handwriting, I have no doubt. However, I'm writing hastily for I must flee soon. I can already hear the footsteps pounding, but I had to write this first. I had to leave my hope for the future somewhere so that someday, someone brave enough would find it, someone who needn't fear the ugly truth of our past, someone who can accept our mistakes and recognize that change has come and that change is always coming, just beyond the horizon. I am sure that, as our world crashes down before us, people will try to twist the story and lie, so I would like to leave behind my firsthand retelling of these events. If it is not destroyed by time or enemies, hopefully historians will find my writing intriguing, perhaps it will shed light on a major historical event.

Lastly, I need to say thank you. Thank you for finding this even after I am long gone, thank you for rediscovering her legacy; she deserves to be remembered for eternity. Thank you for being unafraid and thank you for your curiosity. And finally, thank you for your forgiveness. I am only a mere mortal man and I have made my fair share of mistakes, but I have learned from it all. Thank you for not resenting me, but instead looking further, past my brethren's foolish choices and greed.

I have learned a great deal and my hope for you is that once you have finished discovering a story that was lost a long, long time ago, you too will have gained something from my story, from her story, from _our_ story. I hope that you will share your newfound knowledge so that we as human beings can only continue to grow from here, evolving alongside our ever-changing environments and fellow men and women.

You are stronger than I am and I commend you for your bravery. I am proud that you are our future and I have no hesitancy to put the fate of our future in your hands. I know you will look after us well with all the fierce compassion in you.

If you are afraid, after learning all you have learned, do not indulge in shame. It is understandable to be afraid and if you were not afraid, you would either be lying or so inhuman that it makes me regret not concealing this note better, seeing as this note was therefore not intended for you.

A Wise Girl once told my brother and I that there is no shame in fear, only shame if we choose to be ruled by it. I shall never forget the look on her face when she said as much.

I have the honor to be with the greatest respect Your Excellency's Most obedient Servt.

P. Jackson


	3. The Beginning of The End

**Annabeth**

"But Princess-" the boy with golden sunshine locks of hair and lightning blue eyes attempted to keep up with her long, defiant strides; though lean and elegant, she was not taller than him as the way she carried herself may have one believe. Even at the disadvantage, her footsteps were purposeful and lengthy as she paraded through the stone corridors. Yet, she made no sound, just as she'd been taught to act like royalty, her haughty demeanor and frizzy curls the only things defying her etiquette classes. The steel-eyed young woman could only sneer, imagining what Madame Reme would say, had she seen Annabeth flouncing about through the castle.

 _A lady must not_ stomp, _Your Highness._ She would have wrinkled her nose as if she had caught a whiff of something horrid, something akin to swamp water or the poorer sides of the kingdom. _One does not desire to draw such attention to oneself. We are not trolls, Your Highness_ , she surely would have chastised. _Delicate, nimble, light steps. Princesses should be seen, not heard. And your hair, dear lord. How many times must I remind you to tame that wild hair, at the very least wrapping it tightly in a bun to keep those wretched curls from springing out?_

Annabeth, of course, thought that was a whole load of horse shit. Seen not heard, her ass. If anything, this princess would be seen _and_ heard, oh she'd show them all. And as for her hair, she quite liked it. Annabeth sniffed, turning her nose up in the air; her hair was wild and untamable, much like her.

"Princess!" her guard's calls snapped the blonde out of visions to stick it to the patriarchy. "The Queen will have a hissy fit if you don't calm down," he tried to reason with her, to no avail.

"The Queen's been off her rocker since she sat on that throne," Annabeth hissed. "You damn well know that, Jason."

The young man couldn't help but crack a smile at that, his eyes lighting up with mirth, and the small scar running along the curve of his lip morphing with his charming and toothy grin. "I can neither confirm nor deny that statement, Your Highness," Jason chuckled, refusing to give in and accept that she was right, as she always was, but also too exhausted to chide her for the disrespectful words. Though he was her bodyguard, supposedly serving no purpose other than her protector, Annabeth had grown close with him and if held at gunpoint, she might have even admitted that she thought of him as a friend, another brother, rather than just some muscle. Besides, Annabeth had found that she could raise hell all by herself. "But in all seriousness, I would advise going back to the throne room," Jason cocked a perfect blond eyebrow at her. "Storming out because the council refused to listen to your ideas, simply because you're young, only makes you appear more childish," he spoke truthfully.

Annabeth, blinded by her hubris, refused to acknowledge the last comment, knowing full well that he was right. Like hell she'd give him the satisfaction of admitting so.

"Shut up," she delivered her classic line flawlessly, effectively causing Jason to fall silent as he followed behind her, diligently escorting her to her next destination. His palm rested on the hilt of his sword easily, his gaze never veering from the princess. Annabeth strode down various stone corridors, all similar in color, shape, and size, not to mention, all drafty and cool. She turned a sharp corner, stopping before a large set of dark, wooden French doors, complete with winking rubies embedded in the heavy, golden-hoop handles. Pushing her small frame against the weight, she swung the doors open. Her shoulders immediately fell, relaxing as if on their own accord. Something about the musty scent of the papers buried for centuries mixed with the rich pine fragrance of wood comforted her like nothing else. Or perhaps it was simply because when she wasn't spending her time running around the castle and starting trouble, she stayed holed up like the bookworm she was, learning as much as she could, as much as her brain would allow before it exploded.

She'd always felt something that resembled disappointment when she thought of all the books in the world, of all the knowledge she would never learn. Surely, she would run out of time before she could acquire it all, effectively becoming the most powerful person in the universe. Still, she cherished the library and nothing else held a candle to her love of learning. Annabeth had always taken pride in the knowledge that this library, it was _the_ biggest out of all the kingdoms with the largest selection of archives. To everyone else in her family, the library might as well have been Annabeth's, and hers alone. Though they occasionally referred to it for the unusual fact or two, they would never understand Annabeth's love for it. Not even Malcolm, not even her big brother, whom Annabeth loved dearly, holding close to heart- closer even than Frederick, the beloved King, and Athena, the graceful Queen, notorious for her elegance and eloquence.

Jason was momentarily forgotten by Annabeth as he slipped into the shadows like usual, close if she was in trouble, but not hovering over her to the point where it was uncomfortable. Annabeth hardly noticed, surrounded by her lifelong friends instead. She sat at her desk, sweeping her pineapple yellow dress neatly under her. She was fairly certain that Athena would call Madame Reme immediately for extra lady classes if Annabeth was not seated elegantly, and Annabeth would do almost anything to avoid more of those wretched sessions.

The blonde discreetly itched her wrist in frustration. The frock was irritating her skin, with its lacy trim and stiff material. Still, the Queen insisted that Annabeth always look her best, even at the price of her own comfort. Additionally, Annabeth had found that though it kept her spine straight, corsets were very much restricting, especially when she needed to slap a fool or two. Frowning, the blonde recalled Athena's forceful efforts to tame her stubborn, curly hair. However, her attention was immediately diverted when her gaze landed on the fat book in front of her, thicker with random loose-leaf pages inserted throughout.

Much to Annabeth's curiosity and suspicion, Athena had informed her only an hour ago that there would be a royal ball that very night. And what's more, the royals were coming! The Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses, Dukes, and Duchesses of the surrounding countries would be there in their castle that evening.

Annabeth had decided long ago that she wasn't particularly fond of any of them. Some were ridiculously egotistic and others had more money than sense, in her opinion. Some were quite patronizing and others found every opportunity to display their immense wealth, much to Annabeth's annoyance. Some continuously used malapropisms, effectively trying and failing to impress her with all her linguistic knowledge, and finally, many were just downright foolish; Annabeth had no tolerance for sheer ignorance and stupidity.

However, Annabeth was nothing if not prepared. She had decided right there and then, standing in front of Athena, that the rest of her afternoon would be dedicated to research. She had yet to brush up on her knowledge of the kingdoms and rulers. Annabeth refused to be caught at a disadvantage. In fact, it was often the other way round, so much so that her companions typically found themselves flushing from embarrassment- something for which her mother admonished her. Athena rarely threw spontaneous balls, and what's more, Annabeth was always the first to know. Surely, Athena was up to something and Annabeth intended to find out. Annabeth was an expert strategist herself and she full well knew Athena was no different: like mother, like daughter. Their resemblance, though not physical save the eyes, was uncanny.

" _It is vital, Annabeth, to make a good impression on House Calbourne. And you, Malcolm, you must do the same for House Pevanshire."_

Annabeth scowled at the memory. What was the Queen's game? Calbourne? Pevanshire? The rulers of Thasite and Jirot, respectfully? They were royals of neighboring countries and rarely did they ever speak. Instead, these balls were held for the high houses in their own country of Ashington, the houses that served in the royal council along King Frederick, and the rich houses whose children had married into other countries' royalty. To put all these leaders in one room, albeit a grand ballroom that would more than provide enough space… it was sure to be a bloodbath. So much bad blood, so much history. Many had been on the brink of war at some point, _actually_ in war, or feuded/still were feuding.

Was Athena purposefully trying to have them all tear each other apart? On one hand, Annabeth could see how that could be smart. Let them tear each other apart, and then, House Ashington, _her_ house, could sweep up the broken glass and take over it _all._ Annabeth's irises darkened. She had never been wildly fascinated with acquiring more power, not like most of the wealthy and royal, but she could certainly how it would appease to the Queen.

However, there was a small flaw in Annabeth's theory regarding Athena's sudden plans for a ball: Ashington, though not in an outright feud, was also involved, especially with House Calbourne. The King of Thasite and possibly the most notable figure of House Calbourne, King Poseidon himself, had always found himself in nasty arguments with the Queen of Epresh, Athena of House Ashington. Annabeth had always found a little childish, but she loved her family more than anything else- even power- and she would loyally remain by Athena's side for all of eternity if need be. It would be torture to be kind to the Calbournes, but she need she must. Athena herself had demanded her to be cordial.

Nonetheless, this only added to Annabeth's confusion. If her family was involved as well, they couldn't stand by and watch the other countries tear each other apart like power-hungry wolves. It didn't make any sense, meaning that this endeavor of Athena's there was no way it was a power-driven motive.

Still, Annabeth couldn't fight the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Athena was very political (though she was much quieter about it than her daughter), and everything she did, it was always, _always_ a cold, calculated move intended to grant themselves more leverage. Somehow, someway this involved _more._ More land, more power, more wealth, Annabeth wasn't quite sure yet, but she was determined to crack the case.

Pursing her lips in concentration, the blonde carefully opened the book, cautious not to slam her fingers with the heavy stack of paper inside. Her orbs shifted quickly across the papers, absorbing the words quickly- like a sponge desperate for information. She read about Thasite, Jirot, and Sumisu, she read about House Calbourne, House Pevanshire, and House Raya, she read about ships, ports, and harbors, about expensive silks, satins, herbs, and deadly plants, she read about mining, gold, silver, and other precious metals. She read until her eyes stung, so much so that she feared they would be bloodshot and Athena would reprimand her for her unladylike appearance. She read until she could read no more, her eyes moving and interpreting much quicker than the average human, and then she read more.

The royals wouldn't know what hit them.

* * *

**Bianca**

"Tighter, my Lady?"

Bianca glanced down at her handmaiden through a curtain of her dark hair. "No, thank you." The servant nodded, not meeting her in the eye, and fastened the corset. She reached for a silk black gown and heavy, chunky platinum jewelry, holding it up for the Princess of Jirot to see. Bianca nodded absentmindedly, her mind wandering somewhere else.

The servant got to work, altering the dress to fit Bianca perfectly. Bianca, however, was in another world entirely. She couldn't help the bad feeling she got in the pit of her stomach every time she thought about the ball.

The Queen of Epresh herself, Athena, had sent out invitations just that morning. It was awfully last minute and Bianca wasn't sure how much of this she should trust. House Ashington and House Pevanshire, her own house, had always gotten along fairly well, probably the best out of any of the kingdoms. Epresh and Jirot were already in the trading business together, Jirot producing precious metals for Epresh's military usage, but a ball thrown together with haste? It was practically unheard of.

And then there was Nico, her younger brother. Bianca bit her bottom lip, her hands feeling cool and clammy. She had always been a worrier, but the stress seemed to finally getting to her. There were dark circles under her eyes that the maidens had concealed well with makeup, and her face was paler- paler than usual.

Nico was to become King of Jirot soon enough, but that wasn't the issue. Bianca had no doubt in her mind that he would be a just ruler, just like their father, Hades. But Persephone, their mother, kept pushing him, and pushing him. Bianca feared he was bound to shatter, sooner rather than later, and she wasn't anxious for his mental breakdown to say the least. It was tradition, she knew as much, but Nico was adamant that he didn't want to marry any of young women Persephone pushed in his path. Part of Bianca wished her little brother would just pick _someone_ , it didn't hardly matter who- he would be King after all, the highest power in the land- just so Persephone would be pleased and he could become King without any issues or objections. Of course Nico would become King regardless of if he married or not, there were no rules against that, so he wasn't exactly running out of time, but Persephone was supremely pissed, and Kings were expected to marry at the most, a couple months into their rule. Hades had married Persephone a few weeks before his coronation and they had lived happily ever since- a shock to Bianca as she grew up. Most rulers married for power, not for love. Her parents had been very lucky to fall in love with someone of the right status, and they were a rare exception indeed.

Yet something still nagged at the dark-haired young woman. She turned at her maid's request, her chocolate brown eyes thoughtful and troubled. There must be something Nico wasn't telling her. There must be some reason why he was so against marriage. He had always been stubborn, she knew that too, he had always held grudges with everything in him when they were little, but there was no reason he would fight their mother's propositions so angrily and repetitively if there wasn't something else to it…

Bianca herself had met some of his options. Lovely girls, most of them anyways. Persephone's third proposition in particular had been her own favorite: a sweet Duchess who would make a fine Queen some day, with a kind heart and genuine intentions. Bianca had approved immediately and though Nico had seemed to like her well enough, he had once again turned down Persephone's suggestion. It perplexed Bianca.

Naturally, she'd had her own hand in choosing a suitable future Queen of Jirot. If Persephone was going to be so set on finding the Crown Prince of Jirot a Crown Princess, Bianca was determined to try her best to make her brother acquiesce. She'd suggested a Princess- someone who would know what they were doing, someone strong enough to stand up to Nico's often stubborn, blinded side, someone compassionate enough to thaw Nico's cold, hidden heart, someone intelligent enough to keep up Nico's quick wit, someone who knew when to talk- and when to keep quiet in the presence of the silent Crown Prince. There was only one woman by her knowledge who met all these traits, and though she was a bit hot-headed, Bianca thought that Princess Annabeth of House Ashington would make the perfect match. Their families got along so well, so why not? She had not yet been betrothed yet and as far as Bianca knew, Athena was still searching and deciding. It could only improve their trading relationship, and it would cause no political rifts. It was perfect… or so she had thought.

" _Don't be ridiculous," Persephone waved her hand dismissively, making Bianca blink in confusion._

" _Why, what's wrong?" she inquired._

" _Athena has other plans. In fact, I'm awaiting her letter of confirmation as we speak."_

" _Confirmation? Of what?"_

" _Nothing, Bianca. Be a dear and find me your father, please," the Queen requested, reaching for the tray of pomegranate seeds in front of her. She plucked a juicy red seed- the same color of her blood red lips- from the center and popped it in her mouth._

_Bianca stood up slowly, bewildered, and went in search of Hades._

Even now, Bianca could not fathom for the life of her what that letter was about. Seeing as that conversation was more than a week ago, she could only assume that Queen Athena had confirmed all she needed to and that Persephone had received her answer, whatever that was for.

"-do you approve, Princess?" her handmaiden's soft voice cut through her thoughts like a knife.

Bianca blankly stared into cool glass in front of her. "That'll do, Margaret, thank you." The petite woman nodded, dipped her head, and briskly left the room at the Princess's dismissal.

Bianca blinked at the mirror, gazing at her reflection carefully. She wondered, briefly, how Nico's fitting was going. She wondered if he was as stressed as she was, if he too was thinking of Persephone's suggestions, if he was nervous to become king- though he would never dare show it, if he too shared Bianca's suspicions of the ball, if he believed in love and that's why he didn't like any of these arranged marriages. Bianca had once believed in true love, a delusional quickly squashed at a young age when she learned she would be married away to be someone else's Queen. Nico was not the emotional type, but perhaps, deep down in his hidden soul, he believed in loving someone with your entirety, in loving them with every fiber in your body. Maybe he just wanted a love like their parents'.

Brushing her pale fingers across the cool platinum jewelry in her ears and heavy on her collarbones, Bianca stepped off the pedestal in front of the mirror. Her raven-black hair swept up into a bun felt oddly uncomfortable: tight and stiff, pinned up with riches only the royals in Jirot could own. She adjusted the bracelet that had risen up her forearm and exhaled a deep breath.

She was probably overthinking this like she did for everything else and this ball would probably turn out to be nothing, like usual. Balls were so predictable, always the same routine at every one. Always the same pretentious people with the same false smiles, smiles that hid their power-hungry jealousy. Bianca practiced a smile in the glass, a cordial, kind, yet distanced expression. She'd been to these events a million times. After all this time, nothing could surprise her.

But perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

* * *

**Piper**

Standing next to her sister, Piper only felt more sorrow over her eldest sister's departure. Silena had left both Drew and her a while back, marrying Charles Beckendorf of House Haersley, the new King of Sumisu, and the old Duke of Baca. Her own father, Tristan, was no longer the ruler, and though Charles and Selena should have been here in Sumisu, ruling together, Silena was off in France to study fashion. Their house, House Raya, had always had a huge hand in the fashion of the royals all over the world, seeing as they possessed the most expensive of silks. France had apparently come across a revolutionary idea, a fashion week held in Paris, and they were planning to release the first of many such events in the early 1900s if all went well.

Still, Piper couldn't help but long for her older sister. Though she was the youngest herself, Drew didn't act like Silena, she didn't care for Piper like she'd always big sisters would. It was hard not to feel alone and out of place.

Piper carefully sipped from her cup, trying her best not to wrinkle her nose at the tea. She'd never taken a liking to the Asian delicacy- one Europe had happily adopted. House Raya often indulged in more European traditions, like regular afternoon tea, considering their close bonds to Paris and London- fashion staples of the world. But Sumisu was the biggest fashion country in the world, without a doubt. However, the brunette had never really liked European and Asian traditions, though she did admit that the Asian lifestyle was remarkably healthy.

Piper liked coffee, a good American beverage, and, much to her mother's dismay, American-brewed beer- a drink she snuck up to her room when Aphrodite wasn't looking. Or Drew, for that matter, the snitch. Piper didn't like wandering the infamous Sumisu lush gardens- they were known for their plants as well, she didn't enjoy dressing in extravagant gowns, she didn't like being in the center of attention, she didn't like European traditions, she didn't like learning etiquette.

Piper wanted her freedom from this pompous lifestyle. She wanted her own life, her own schedule, and more than anything else, she wanted someone who understood.

As much as she adored Silena, she knew her sister would never comprehend Piper's wish for another life. Silena adored the fancy life, Drew practically hogged the spotlight for Gods' sake, and Piper was, as usual, alone with her own thoughts. Perhaps a friend would be nice. A friend who could be like a better sister, a friend who too felt trapped.

Piper pondered upon the appealing thought for some time, purposefully not tasting the tea. She picked up a scone, attempting to rid her tongue of the disgusting taste. Aphrodite watched disdainfully as Piper picked at the scone, not really involved in the conversation between her mother and Drew. Little did Aphrodite know that Piper was somewhere else entirely. She was not trapped here in small talk, not between the two women's gossip. No, she was riding a beautiful white stallion outside, her hair loose and flowing in the wind, away, far, far away from this life. She was sword fighting with the pirates of her story books and singing with mermaids and shrinking to the size of a faerie and kicking Prince Charming's imperious ass- the Prince of her mother's choice. She was in a plain surcoat, selling bread in the town, she was hunting with her fairytale big brother, she was running from the monarchy's stupid guards, she was breaking through those wretched chains-

"-and you too, Piper. You too shall be very kind to House Calbourne," Aphrodite said sweetly.

Piper blinked, not really paying attention. "Yes, mother," she mildly concurred. Someday, someday she would be there, someday she would wield her deadly dagger and then no one will be able to touch her.

But for now, the pirates would have to wait another day.

* * *

**Drew**

Drew's eyes gleamed as she stepped out of the carriage. Feet first, just a little ankle showing, and then gracefully take your time getting out. Hand in the footboy's for support, chin up pridefully, an indifferent expression on your face.

Drew quickly snatched her gloved-hand back from the servant, letting the long train of her emerald green dress majestically trail behind her. She rested her dark purple umbrella, decorated with emerald jewel droplets on the edges, neatly on her left shoulder. Her eyelids were a subtle lavender, complimenting her fair skin and dark, sleek hair. Tonight she would get everything Aphrodite had promised. Tonight she would finally outshine Silena as the best daughter. She had prepared her entire life for this moment, the years of etiquette class clearly displayed in her extraordinary elegance. Not only would she be perfectly amiable with the Calbourne brothers, just as her mother Aphrodite had instructed, but she would seal the deal- the deal Athena, Persephone, Medusa, and Aphrodite had agreed on.

Drew seriously doubted that everyone involved knew about the deal and she delighted that Aphrodite had told _her_ everything, she pasted a placid smile on her face and waltzed into the castle of Epresh. First things first, she must greet the host. Her dark eyes scanned the room quickly and efficiently located Queen Athena, dressed head to toe in silver and orange. Just as Drew had suspected, it was indeed a political ball, very meticulously planned by the sly Queen.

"Queen Athena," Drew dipped her head pleasantly, curtsying low to the ground without a hitch. Normally Queens would not bow to other Queens. Kings and Queens were at the top of the monarchy, they bowed for no one, not even Kings and Queens of other lands. But even Princesses and Princes had to bow to these superiors, though they did not have to for each other, nor Dukes and Duchesses. Drew was not Queen. Well, not yet.

"Drew Tanaka of House Raya, _Crown_ Princess of Sumisu," the older woman acknowledged, politely nodding. Drew stood back up, flushing with pride at Athena's emphasis- the latest addition to her title. Normally, Athena would have not uttered her entire title- she had already met Drew before many, many times for tea- but Drew immediately recognized Athena's intention, her not-so-subtle hint at her plan. The Queen was well aware that Queen Aphrodite had informed Drew of the entire ball. Drew could not smother down the genuine smile on her face. She wondered if he knew he was betrothed yet, if he knew that she was to be his Queen, that she would soon rule alongside him, that she too would share his incomparable power.

"Though I have seen your ballroom before, I must say it looks absolutely spectacular, lavishly decorated for tonight. And your ball gown, my Queen, though you need no dress to accentuate your natural beauty, only showcases your radiance," Drew managed to compliment eloquently.

Athena smiled, though it was not genuine. Nobody here was truly at ease, truly happy. It was all a political motive, nothing more, nothing else. No matter what allegiance you formed, you were taught from an early age to watch your back with utmost vigilance, for anyone can betray anyone. Drew had even heard of royal spouses turning on each other, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. Drew returned the impassive expression, a master of concealing her true emotions.

"And you, Lady Tanaka, the mint green of House Raya suits you well, my dear."

Drew skillfully allowed a fractionally bigger smile in acknowledgement. "You are much too kind, Queen Athena. I am sure you have other guests to attend to, so now I bid you farewell," she said finally, graciously accepting the compliment, however pretend, and simultaneously smoothly excusing herself. As she extracted herself from the interaction, Drew held her spine straight- her corset assisting her with her poise- and she refuted a shiver. House Ashington and House Raya had never perfectly gotten along, but with their countries on the brink of war against bigger enemies, what choice did they have but to unite? The knowledge did not shake Drew of her uneasiness regarding the steel-eyed and quick-witted Queen of Epresh.

Disguising her disgust of House Ashington, Drew pushed forward, adroitly introducing herself to other royals. Dukes, Duchesses, Princesses, and Princes together scanned her twice, soaking in her expensive ball gown, full, carnation-purple lips, and impossibly glossy, black hair. It felt good to be envied, as it always had, it felt good when she knew just how hard she'd worked to be here, to be the most beautiful, the most glamorous, the most poised, and overall the _best._ Drew did not miss the green-eyed glares of the other women, nor the dropped jaws of the men, tripping over themselves to win her favor. Bless their poor souls, bless those who believed they had a chance with _her._ She was already betrothed and therefore, she was already in line for power unimaginable.

 _He_ would fall at her feet too, eventually. She'd heard he was a tough one to crack, in love with his kingdom and his people, with the crown too, merciful, powerful, and eager for some change. She'd heard rumors about him adding women to the royal council, one of the first countries to make this change- right after Epresh of course.

But he would fall too, she knew. Everyone did. He would fall for her beauty and charm and when he realized, it would be all too late. She would have a firm grasp on his kingdom and soon she would be the sole ruler behind doors, she would whisper her wishes in his ear and he would do as she said, no more, no less, no argument. She alone could make him kneel before her. They all saw what they wanted and she knew it better than anyone else, and moreso, she knew how to manipulate their want until they wanted what she wanted them to, until they would do _anything_ to get their desires. Drew was a sorceress, a temptress, and they all fell for her delicious words, for her mysterious eyes, and her cunning mind. After all, the apple did not fall far from the tree.

Drew scanned across the room once more, a sweeping gaze like she had been taught, and fixated her gaze on one figure in particular. There he stood, proud, tall, and… unknowing. Even though it was ridiculously tempting to spill the news to him herself, the corner of her mouth twitched in amusement and, feigning ignorance, she turned a cheek to his presence, choosing to greet his father before she even approached him. Though strong, she couldn't help but feel he was a bit innocent, a bit naive. Not that she had any issue with that, it only made Aphrodite's instructions easier to execute. Little did he know, mercy didn't exist, not in war, not in love, not in hate, not in life.

And this was only the beginning.


	4. Murder, Marriage, and More Murder

**Annabeth**

Annabeth hastily scurried down the corridor, muttering to herself under her breath. She'd spent the entire evening studying for the ball and now that it was here, butterflies flapped wildly in the pit of her stomach. Guests were already pouring into the grand ballroom and Queen Athena and King Frederick were already greeting royals.

The blonde turned the corner, not quite looking where she was going and ran straight into a very solid, very warm figure. "Shit!" It fell out of her mouth before she could filter it, before she could think it through, and her face immediately lit up like a Christmas tree in embarrassment.

"Oops," the body chuckled, a deep, pleasant sound.

"Malcolm!" Annabeth exclaimed, slumping as much as her corset would allow, her relief evident.

"Let's just pretend I didn't hear that," his steel grey eyes- the ones that matched both Athena's and Annabeth's softened when they met hers. His lips curved up at the corners in mild amusement.

"Of course," Annabeth quickly agreed. Ladies were not supposed to swear, and any good gentleman would refrain from cursing in front of a woman. Not that Malcolm hadn't dropped a couple colorful phrases in front of his little sister through the years. In fact, he had taught her most of it- a fact that oddly made Annabeth flush with pride and love. Malcolm, her big brother, was only two years older than her, and they'd always gotten along, even as kids. You know, except the occasional times Annabeth punched him too hard during training, or when he stole her scones right out from under her nose, leading to hair-pulling and name-calling. They'd had a good childhood, and even now, even as Malcolm was preparing to become King of Epresh, they were close, despite his royal obligations.

"Late?" Malcolm teased, smoothing down his silver dress uniform, though the silver was hardly visible over his lapels and entire chest- it was highly decorated with all types of medals and badges for Epresh's military, including a couple honor cords and a sash.

"A Princess is never late. Everyone else is simply early," Annabeth's eyes glittered, and she shared a half smile with her brother.

He grinned. "Indeed, _Princess_."

Annabeth smirked. "You're too kind, _Your Highness_ ," she joked. They never referred to each other by their titles: they were simply Malcolm and Annabeth, Annabeth and Malcolm. Two peas in a pod, good friends, peanut butter and jam, salt and pepper. A muscle in his cheek twitched and Annabeth could see, much to her delight, that he was trying to stifle his laughter. She'd always been able to make him laugh, perhaps the _only_ one who could. She'd always taken great pride in being _his_ pride and joy.

Malcolm glanced over Annabeth's appearance real quick, watching as she, too, awkwardly smoothed down her extravagant gown, ridding it of any wrinkles she may have received from body slamming him. "You look nice," he nodded at her, smiling charmingly. Her brother had always been quite the eye-candy and Annabeth herself had noticed girls fawning over themselves, something that the pair of them shared a laugh over, and often induced the occasional eye roll on Annabeth's part. "Better than your usual, messy self," he added nonchalantly, a gleam in his gaze.

Annabeth laughed, throwing her head back. "You clean up well too, pigsty," she nudged him, referring to his unruly study. Not that her papers were exactly in order either, but hey, at least the library was always left spotless after she used it.

"Well," Malcolm cleared his throat. "It must have been fate to run into you, now before the ball. Shall I escort you down, my Lady?" he shot her a sideways smile, and extended his arm for her to take.

Annabeth beamed in return, willing to play along with his little game. "I would be honored," she laughed, carefully placing her gloved hand on his forearm.

"What… what is that?" Malcolm asked, breaking the silence as the made their way to the ballroom.

"What?" Annabeth looked up at him, puzzled.

"That," he pointed to the black, slightly smeared marks peeking out from under her glove. He frowned.

"Nothing," she hurriedly replied, tugging nervously at the glove.

"Are those… notes?" Malcolm's voice was that of disbelief. Annabeth immediately expected to be reprimanded. Though they were close, Malcolm had never missed the opportunity to put her in her place when need be. After all, he was truly the only one who could reign in her wild, sometimes inappropriately out-of-control personality. Annabeth could vividly recall stepping on some Duke's foot when she was seven; he'd told her it was impolite for ladies to carry weapons. He'd howled too. What a baby. As rude as his comment, Malcolm, just turned ten at the time, had pulled her aside and gently explain why she couldn't go around attacking random idiots. That had been the first time Malcolm had swore before her.

" _You can't murder every dumbass, Annabeth."_

Her mouth had parted in a wide _o_ of astonishment. He hadn't told her to pardon him for his language, but had just held her hand tightly to make a point, and looked her straight in the eyes until she felt uncomfortable, and bad. Reluctantly, she'd gone out and apologized to the fool. Malcolm had gotten her chocolate cake afterwards as a reward for being compliant and not making a scene. Malcolm had then told her something she never forgot, not even now, something she suspected she'd never forget:

" _You go ahead and keep carrying your dagger. And maybe someday, you can teach that old geezer a lesson or two."_

Malcolm had never been a particularly violent young boy. He played fair and square, he was a perfect gentleman and didn't have to have it trained into him like Annabeth had, and though he could beat most boys his age and even a few older in a battle of swords, and probably outshoot all of them with his eyes closed, he kept to himself, ever the soft spoken, intelligent, charismatic future leader of Epresh. But he understood Annabeth's fury than anyone else. He knew she wasn't just trying to stir up drama, nor cause a commotion. He knew his sister hated the notion that females could not anything better than a male, that she was weak or that she was stupider. He quietly gave her strength through the years, molding her into the fiery, bold young lady she was today, probably without even knowing the effect he'd had on her. Annabeth was forever grateful for his faith in her. His faith in her was the best thing in her life and without it, without him, she wasn't sure what she'd have done, or more a more horrifying thought, who she'd be now.

But now, he did the most unexpected thing. He laughed out of pure incredulity, squeezing her wrist gently. "Only you," said Malcolm, but not without affection.

Annabeth let a reluctant smile grace her features. "I just don't want to forget anything!" She prided herself on her impeccable, flawless brain.

"You never do," he snorted in the most un-gentleman-like manner. "Come. Mother will be awaiting our presence, and I'm sure we have introductions to make." Her hand still on his arm, they escorted each other to the party, full of prissy, pretentious guests. Neither of them were looking forward to it- they'd never quite fit in with the other kids, only with each other were they comfortable- but it was their duty and like always, they would deliver in every way.

Sharing a knowing look, Malcolm let go of Annabeth, albeit reluctantly, and sneaking a light kiss on the top of her head when he thought the royal guards weren't looking, they entered the grand ballroom, apprehensive, but confident.

* * *

**Malcolm**

To him, Annabeth had always been his better half. She made him stronger, she made him want to be a better man, she inspired to be the best- and all to please her. Her opinion mattered, and nobody else's, never anyone else's. Letting her go into the crowd of royals was quite possibly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, and that was really saying something, considering he'd been the front soldier and general to many armies of Epresh, winning them all. Annabeth's lessons on strategy had been his saving grace a few times, though he would never openly admit it- oh, how she would gloat.

But it was hard for him to let her go, knowing all that he knew, it was hard to watch her make her way through the crowd, her golden curls- much like his- disappearing from his sight. She had always known her place; she needn't try to find it in this cruel, unusual, unpredictable world. But as her big brother, he couldn't help but worry for her. Athena had strictly prohibited him from warning her, from telling her all that he knew, and though he would have easily broken such rules in the past- anything for Annabeth- he had held his tongue just this once. A lot was riding on their mother's plan, quite possibly the success of their nation, the lives of their people, and as much as he loved his sister, he was to be married and then coronated for King. He could not break promises, not to his people, and not to his mother. Not anymore.

It was an exhausting thought, in a way. It forced him to acknowledge the fact that he was growing up, though he had known it for a while now: he was nineteen, for Gods' sake. Malcolm couldn't help but feel nostalgic for old times. Times when Annabeth was off doing something foolish and he had to stop her, save her from herself for that was always the only saving she ever needed. She was quite self-sufficient, he'd always known. But now, seeing her all dressed up in a ball gown, a spitting image of their mother, he felt his stomach knot uncomfortably.

She would leave soon, married to that Prince, and she would be out of his grasp, forced to fight it all by herself. And though Annabeth was strong, she had always had his full support, he'd always been able to charge in and save the day, like a knight in shining armor, whether that meant stopping her from beating some old Dukes and delusional Kings to bloody pulps, or calling the castle healer in himself to help bandage her training-induced skinned knee. And then she would be gone from Epresh, away from their House Ashington, though never forgotten. She would become a Princess of another land, not the one they'd grown up together in, and she would forget him. They would grow apart as most royal families did, making their own new royal families, one he would not be part of. And he would marry as well, marry as Athena had instructed. He would be bound to the Pevanshire girl, Bianca di Angelo of House Pevanshire, Princess of Jirot. Well, soon to be Crown Princess of Epresh. She would become the Queen of Epresh, taking Athena's place, and though Malcolm had heard only good things about Bianca, unlike some other princesses, he knew deep down that she did not love him either, that they were both doing this to protect their younger siblings, to keep their parents' wrath at bay, to please their respective kingdoms, to make their parents proud. They would live alone, though they were together, because though he had no doubt in mind that Bianca and him would become friends, they would never truly be connected like others.

In this manner, Malcolm found himself irrationally jealous of his people, of the simple townsfolk who resided in Epresh. In this case, they were the lucky ones, he couldn't help but think. They were free, something he could not say for himself, nor for his sister- a woman much too good for anyone else, in his opinion. He supposed he was still freer than Annabeth, and Bianca too. He would be King, the highest power in Epresh with the most powerful word, and he was a man, so in 1878, he held the most superiority. But he was not free like the simple people of Epresh, living their simple lives, free to love whomever they chose, to do as they pleased, to go on spontaneous adventures, to not marry, if that's what they chose. They were birds, free from any cage, and Malcolm was chained up. He had been chained up from birth, the expectations for him neatly stated from the moment he was brought into this world.

And Malcolm knew they struggled, struggled to make ends meet, to sometimes feed their children- all concerns he could barely imagine, and struggles he hoped to tackle as King. And he knew that his problems were "rich people problems," never truly comparing to their hardships, but this knowledge did not diminish his envy. After all, Annabeth had always jokingly told him that he did not use his brain sometimes, using only his heart, like her, too, sometimes. He wistfully imagined what it would be like to live that simple life, free from his own cage.

Malcolm tugged himself free of his daydream for now, knowing it would only bring him pain to imagine what he could never have, and turned back to the party. As much as he wished for a normal life, he loved his crown, he could not wait to be King, to change history, to do his part and make his parents proud, and this foolish daydreaming would only get him nowhere. He would leave his childish dreams at the doorstep and wake up and smell the fucking coffee, because he wasn't a small boy anymore and he had goals to accomplish, legacies to preserve, and people to please.

His grey eyes landed on a dark-haired beauty on the other end of the ballroom. He didn't know how he knew exactly, but somehow, without a doubt, Malcolm knew that was none other than Bianca di Angelo. She was strangely… bright. He wasn't sure how else to describe it. Though she was decked entirely in her house's colors, an elegant black gown and platinum jewelry- dull colors, by his own standard- she radiated warmth. She was like a sun and people were naturally drawn to her. In fact, many people did surround, men and women both, and a sweet smile enveloped her face.

Malcolm sighed in relief. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, but the future King of Jirot, Nico, was known to be quite a sulky, brooding young man, so he had half-thought Bianca would be similar. No, this wasn't love, but maybe this could work. Maybe they could be friends, maybe they could bond over their mutual understanding and love of their younger siblings.

His feet moving forward on their own accord, the crown parted before him, bows from many, but he hardly noticed. He knew what to do, Athena had instructed him accordingly. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his mother looking at him cautiously, almost silently willing him not to fuck this up. Summoning what little courage he had left, he raised his glass of champagne, lightly clinking. As if by magic, the ballroom fell silent, a space cleared around him and Bianca, almost as if they'd been expecting this. This marriage, it was the first of three, the first of Athena's grand scheme. Though he full well knew that Bianca knew this was going to happen and that she was going to accept, he couldn't fight the nervousness rising in him. He composed himself, remaining calm despite the fact that he was about to pledge his life to her, when this was his first time ever _seeing_ her in his entire life. Bianca looked at him expectantly and though he didn't know her, not truly, her steady gaze brought his some courage, pushed him forward. She nodded subtly, willing him to continue.

"I would like to make an announcement," he announced, his voice crystal clear and enunciated carefully- like a true King. The final murmurs of the crowd died down and a few glanced at Athena and Frederick, both of whom were regarding their son with patience and knowing.

"In the eyes of my royal father and the noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage. I

pledge myself to you, Bianca di Angelo Pevanshire. Will you accept?" His tone was cool and collected, calm, though he felt anything but. Though it was phrased as a question, he already knew the answer: it had been dictated by both Persephone and Athena. His gaze landed on Annabeth and he saw her jaw drop, if only for a second before she collected herself as well. She had been kept in the dark by their mother, and for a moment, he felt guilty. But he knew that Annabeth would probably have tried to talk him out of it, so it was probably smart in hindsight. He looked away hastily, unable to stand her accusing gaze. She was sure to talk to him about this with him later, a conversation he wasn't exactly eager to delve into.

"I pledge myself to you, Malcolm Pace Ashington," Bianca's steady voice cut through the air. "I accept." He dipped his head in acknowledgement, making his way out of the spotlight as a round of applause pounded through the ballroom. Still, to him, his heart pounded louder in his chest. When he passed Athena, she patted his forearm reassuring, offering a gentle smile. Malcolm had not seen her look at him so proudly, not since he was a little boy and had won his first sparring match. Despite his worry, it calmed him, if only for a moment, something inside him softening. He walked past her, trying to ignore the sting of regret flaring up inside of him.

 _I accept, I accept, I accept._ They felt like the final nails in his coffin, a door slamming shut behind him and locking with a click of finality. There was no going back now. This was his life. Malcolm tried desperately to wrap his mind around this. He had known only since this morning that this was to happen and he hadn't exactly had much time to cope with it. He knew he should probably speak with Bianca, exchange some small talk, perhaps get to know her a little- after all, they would be spending the rest of their lives together- but he found himself wandering instead, graciously accepting the congratulations of the guests, though his mind was somewhere else, running, probably, hiding too.

"Malcolm."

He looked up, eye to eye with none other than a straight mouth and serious eyes. He swallowed thickly.

"Annabeth."

* * *

**Annabeth**

"You knew," were the first words that fell out of her mouth. "You knew this was part of Athena's plan and you never told me." Annabeth felt like a toddler, throwing a ridiculous tantrum, but she couldn't help the betrayal flaring in her chest. Malcolm had never kept things from her and though she knew with certainty that their mother had instructed him to do so, it didn't battle the strong emotions swirling in her heart.

"I'm sorry," he allowed, pursing his lips carefully. "She told me not to say." He needn't mention who _she_ was; they both knew.

"I figured. But… marriage, Malcolm?" Annabeth swallowed noisily. She knew nineteen really wasn't all that early for marriage, especially not for marriage. Many royals were betrothed by fifteen. But this was _her_ brother and it all just felt very real all of a sudden. "Congratulations," she amended her previous words, her tone softer now, gentle, understanding. He must have not known for very long himself either. A sympathetic string tugged at her heart, pleading her to go easy on him.

"Thanks." It was strangely devoid of any emotion.

"So I wager you know much more about this plan than I do?" She couldn't fight the hurt in her voice. Why did Athena tell her nothing? Why, why, why?

He nodded reluctantly.

"So what else is she doing? What does your marriage have to do with anything? Malcolm, please," Annabeth hated to beg, but she was dying of curiosity, and she just wanted a heads-up, no surprises.

"I'm only supposed to tell you one thing," Malcolm confessed after some time.

Her heart was palpitating wildly in her chest and however illogical, she feared it would burst out of her chest right there and then.

"When he asks, you will say yes," Malcolm instructed.

"Excuse me?" Annabeth was bewildered. Yes? Him? Who was this _he?_ What was she saying yes to? She suppressed her need to ask a million questions, sensing Malcolm's unease. "Okay," said Annabeth, not arguing for once in her life. He looked relieved, much to her own relief. "I love you, you know that, right?" They didn't say it often, but his stress was rubbing off on her, and she felt that it was warranted. He wasn't allowed to hug her, not here, not now, but he seemed so thankful, weak with relief.

"I should go speak with Bianca," he tried to rid his voice of any emotion, but Annabeth caught his thick tone, gruff with feelings and love. Sneakily, he reached out and squeezed her hand before anyone could see, and with that, he left her alone to socialize once more. Her throat feeling oddly constricted and tight, Annabeth turned, coming face to face with very blue-green eyes. Her heart leapt up in her chest and she took a step back, immediately.

"My apologies, Princess; it was not my intention to startle you."

Slowly, she glanced up at the stranger, her prior worries fading away to this new, unusual nervousness. She tried to place him, but she could not quite decide why he seemed so familiar and where in her studies, in her archives, she'd found him. Not wanting to reveal her notes by whipping them out for examination, she maintained a steady expression and relaxed her shoulders.

"It's quite alright," she allowed, amiably, debating whether or not he should bow. He had not yet but she wasn't sure if that was because he was of the same rank as her- a Prince of some foreign land, for she didn't recognize him in the slightest- or if he was simply being rude.

"Congratulations to your brother on his wedding," he said after a moment, dipping his head politely. "I am sure Queen Athena and King Frederick are more than pleased. House Pevanshire is a fine, fine family, and Jirot is quite the asset, what with their unimaginable wealth and highly valued gems, forging only the best of weapons. Your military will surely suffer no more."

Annabeth's lips parted in surprise. Never had anyone been so direct about the political motives behind marriage between royals. "Thank you," she managed to choke out, regarding his first statement and doing her best to ignore the rest of his mini tirade.

"Your dress is lovely," he finally said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Thank you," she repeated, still a bit shocked. "I beg your pardon, please excuse my deeply flawed memory, but who exactly are you?"

He just smiled, his neat row of teeth gleaming white, white like the color of his dress uniform- one similar to Malcolm's, though his was entirely blue and white, unlike Malcolm's stunning silver. It, too, was highly decorated, the markings of an expert general and military leader.

"I am no one of important, my Lady," he assured her, tactfully deflecting her question. If that's what he said, then why, oh why, did she suspect the exact opposite? Why did she have the sinking feeling she was standing in front of someone that she should've known, that she was only embarrassing herself and possibly offending him? Though, in all fairness, he didn't seem the least bit concerned by her lack of knowledge regarding his existence.

"What's your name?" she asked finally, peering up at him cautiously.

He pretended to ponder over the question. "Gertrude Markou," he said finally after the longest second of her life. "Duke of Tapin Side, Jobreau," he smirked like the devil and it sent shivers down her spine initially. Never once had she seen such an expression on a royal- or at least, she assumed he was. He carried himself with a certain self-importance that not even regular high houses could. Perhaps a Duke? It didn't seem to suit him.

Annabeth's right eye twitched. "What nonsense," she scoffed, indulging in his verbal jousting. If he wanted to play, she was more than prepared to win. "Jobreau has no Duke, not to mention Tapin Side is a myth, a place of children's fairy tales and nothing else. Do not lie to me on my own land in my own kingdom," she warned him menacingly.

"Jackson," he piped up before she could say much else or complain too much, an amused twinkle sparkling in his eyes, a smirk adorned on his face. "Percy Jackson."

It was so strange to hear someone introduce themselves without their title, not to mention, using what she suspected was a nickname (Perseus was probably his real name). For a moment she suspected he did not have one, and was one of the many high houses, but she could not believe it could be that way. There was simply something about him, something that felt too off to be part of the richer commoners. Maybe he was on a royal council, an even richer highest house? Annabeth raised her eyebrow at him, urging him to state his title. He seemed to catch the hint, but only smirked in reply, infuriating her with his obvious teasing.

"Annabeth Chase of House Ashington, Princess of Epresh," she introduced herself eloquently, hoping that social customs of introducing oneself would push him to formally introduce himself _properly._ She put extra emphasis on her title.

"I am aware," a sly grin spread across his face, revealing his dazzling, pearly white teeth. "We are in your castle under the invitation of your own lovely mother, after all." His tone was mocking, clearly pretending as if she was stupider than she truly was.

Annabeth's cheeks flushed pink slightly, both out of anger and embarrassment from broken pride, but mostly anger. "You are insufferable," she seethed, spitting it out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Malcolm was not here to reel her in and she had to control herself. Princesses were not to be as outspoken as she was, but somehow he didn't seem to mind, throwing back his head and laughing delightfully instead.

"Perseus Jackson of House Calbourne, Crown Prince of Thasite," he finally caved, thoroughly bemused by her reaction and easily irritated personality. Annabeth blinked, fighting the urge to gape at him. _This_ was the son of the great Poseidon?! The future King of Thasite?!

Suddenly, Annabeth couldn't imagine how she'd managed to be so stupid. His eyes were a piercing, brilliant sea green, a trait unique only to his bloodline, and even then, rare among themselves as well. That's why he had seemed so familiar; he was one of a kind, and all eyes were on him now, seeing as he was next in line for throne and was surely to be married soon. Their royal family was very, _very_ wealthy, as they practically controlled the seas and all ocean trade, all boat and fishing activity. He had already been betrothed to a beautiful young woman from across the seas, at least, that's what Athena had said when briefly explaining her plan to her daughter; she often left Annabeth out of her schemes, underestimating her daughter's competence and intelligence, as evidenced by the surprise Annabeth felt when Malcolm declared his marriage in front of all these people. Annabeth could only assume that Percy was marrying _that_ young woman _,_ the only lady left in Athena's grand plan _._ Percy's soon-to-be-wife's family was not much worse, seeing as part of their family descended from Asian dynasties, possessing powerful plants and expensive silks. Not only did the look gorgeous, top of the fashion industry, but they were deadly too. In fact, Annabeth's own kingdom traded with them often, as their intellect and war strategy were their biggest valuables and they needed the precious herbs to forge powerful potions and medicines. No strategy was complete without a little sneaky tactic, after all.

It was at that moment Annabeth finally realized. This is what her mother, Athena had been saying when lecturing her daughter about the importance of making the best possible impression on Percy. She intended to build an empire, an alliance stronger than anything else in all of history. She had told Malcolm to be respectful to House Pevanshire of Jirot, which controlled practically every metal in the world. This could only mean that Bianca di Angelo was to marry her older brother and become Queen of Epresh. Before Annabeth could even stomach the thought of her own brother's wedding, her mind was flying.

The Ashington bloodline, the Calbourne bloodline, the Pevanshire bloodline, and the Raya bloodline, combining to create an unstoppable force. If Percy was betrothed to Drew Tanaka of House Raya, Crown Princess of Sumisu, and her older brother, Malcolm Pace of House Ashington, Crown Prince of Epresh, to Bianca di Angelo of House Pevanshire, Princess of Jirot (soon to be Crown Princess of Epresh), then Annabeth was soon to be married off as well, surely to secure the Ashington bloodline in this powerful force. If Ashington was already tied to Pevanshire through Malcolm and Bianca, that left Calbourne and Raya. She recalled all she knew of the Calbourne bloodline and the Raya bloodline, realizing that the Raya bloodline was made up of all daughters and the Calbourne bloodline had two sons. If Percy, one of the sons, was betrothed already then… it all made sense.

Annabeth was to be betrothed to none other than Percy's younger brother, Luke Castellan Calbourne.

* * *

**Annabeth**

If she was being completely honest, Annabeth was beginning to feel a little faint. It wasn't that she _didn't_ suspect a betrothal sometime in the near future, no, she wasn't nearly that dense. She just hadn't the news to be introduced to her by some stranger, not her brother, not her mother, not even her father. It was quite the shock indeed and she blanched, trying desperately to steady her wildly palpitating heart.

"Princess? Lady Chase? You're beginning to look a little pale," the Prince commented, momentarily ripping Annabeth out of her mini mental breakdown. How rude. She tore her gaze from the floor, scrutinizing him carefully.

" _Thanks,"_ said Annabeth sarcastically. She glared at him but he didn't flinch or seem to notice.

"A drink, please?" she heard him request in the back of her mind. His words were a bit fuzzy at this point, his face a tad blurry. Not that she minded; it was revolting to have to see him anyways, what with his unsettling, hard gaze and crooked smile. Screw him.

"Here," he thrust something in her hands and she refused to jerk her hand away, even when his fingers brushed her gloved ones, determined to allow him no satisfaction. She curled her hand around the glass stem, the cool exterior seeping into her skin and providing temporary relief. It grounded her.

"Thank you," she murmured, Athena's voice chastising her in her mind. He allowed a curt nod, peering at her curiosly as she cautiously took a sip. As the cold liquid slid down her throat, she sighed, contentedly. The wine was familiar- her mother's favorite wine to serve at these big balls- and relieved her tension, even if only for the moment.

"Luke's quite nice," Percy mentioned, much to Annabeth's annoyance. His forehead creased in concern. "If that's what made your natural flush disappear so quickly," he added, almost as an afterthought.

All of a sudden, Annabeth couldn't help but _hate_ him. Hate him for everything he was and everything he was supposed to be. Hate him for being about to become King of Thasite very soon, for being next in line to become another cruel, cold, calculated leader who did nothing but sit on his ass all day, watching indifferently as the impoverished of his country suffered. She fucking hated his guts and the monarchy and how nice he was trying to be. She was never supposed to like Calbournes; Poseidon was a sleazy sneak and a terrible King, at least in her humble opinion. He spent more money, resources, and time in investing in stupid new military ships, though he already had way too many for one country. And besides, he only sent out his own people die in his wars, probably polishing his ships for the millionth time. Percy was her born rival, so why should she even _bother_ with an amiable disposition? And Luke too, she supposed she did resent him a little, though she had never even spoken to him in her entire life. She doubted she was arrogant and obnoxious as his older brother- nobody could really be, could they? But that didn't mean she had to like him any more. She could despise people as she pleased, couldn't she? Who was anyone to tell her she couldn't hate whoever she'd like?

Annabeth glowered at him as he continued to speak. He wasn't really looking at her, the only reason she supposed he was still talking- he probably had not yet realized her drastic change in mood. He was saying about her castle and how lovely it was. Annabeth knew for a fact that he would be staying in her castle for some time, his brother as well, and so would the Raya and Pevanshire children. They were all connected to Athena's mastermind plan, someway, somehow. It was tradition to stay, the betrotheds. Their parents would leave, but they would be here, encroaching in her space, sitting in _her_ chair in the library. Now Annabeth was supremely pissed off and she wished she could just murder him, really. This was ridiculous, this whole thing was blasphemy, what exactly was Athena thinking? Was she even thinking? Was she on drugs? Honestly. Annabeth didn't trust those dirty Calbournes, not one bit. And if they wanted a shot at her respect, she decided right then and there that both Luke and Percy would have to earn. The same went for the Raya daughters: Silena, though she was married and not here, Drew, and Piper. Only the Pevanshire children- Bianca and Nico- had her unwavering faith and trust.

Fortunately, for Percy's sake, a man somewhere across the ballroom summoned him, interrupting their conversation before she slapped his dumbass.

"Prince Perseus!" a deeper voice called. Annabeth, alongside Percy, turned to face a middle-aged man, around the same age as King Frederick, with dark hair and the same startling sea green eyes as Percy. With a jolt, Annabeth realized that must be King Poseidon, the man Percy would soon replace on the throne. She involuntarily shivered, no matter how miniscule. Royal succession had always made her uneasy: there was just something about how they passed along a country as if it was a family heirloom, owned entirely by one being, a playtoy that some generations destroyed more than others, that put her on edge. "Please, do the honors."

Percy's face darkened and though she suspected nobody else had seen the fractional change in his expression, Annabeth couldn't help but ponder his thoughts. What was he thinking? What he must he do? Why does he look so stiff? The curious blonde set her wine glass on a passing servant's tray, watching as Percy approached his father.

"Annabeth," Athena looked at her. She needn't call for her like Poseidon; Annabeth could feel her mother's melting gaze from a million miles away. "You too."

Her? She frowned in confusion, the perplexed expression fading as soon as she realized the implications of her mother's tone and Malcolm's prior words: _When he asks, you will say yes._ And Percy too. Though she really had no reason to believe a peep that came out of his mouth, when he'd announced her engagement to his own brother, Luke, she had detected no malice in his words, only confusion at her bewilderment and truth. She thought she was going to throw up.

As elegantly as she could manage, Annabeth made her way up to the center of the ballroom, stepping onto a small platform next to her mother, who stepped down immediately and stood by Frederick at the side, and Percy.

Sure enough, bobbing through the crowd, people parting for his presence, a young man, probably only a few years younger than Percy, made his way to the front. He had sandy blond hair, whiter than her golden curls, and crystal blue eyes- eyes more watery than Jason. Come to think of it, he looked an awful lot like her bodyguard/best friend. He, too, had a scar, though at first glance, his was much more noticeable. It was faded and white, running from the corner of his eye to his jaw. He was tall too, taller than her which only made her want to scowl (she was awfully used to towering over people), and he had broad shoulders, toned from training. She immediately tilted her chin up, asserting her dominance before he could even glance at her. Quietly, she compared him to Percy. They were like the sun and the moon, as corny as it sounded. Though Luke had the blond hair and Percy was darker, both in hair and eyes, to her, Percy was the sun. He just emitted very sunny, friendly, relaxed vibes. Only that fed to Annabeth's unease. Because Luke was the moon, cool, hushed, and private, she immediately felt closer to him- even though she was fairly sure he had earned that scar in some nasty combat, which made him a bit intimidating.

Losing track of her surroundings as she contrasted both brothers, Annabeth barely noticed when another girl delicately stepped onto the platform. With mild triumph, Annabeth revelled in the fact that she indeed towered over the dark-haired young woman. She had dark brown eyes, brightened by wildly colored purple eye makeup, and sleek, black hair- hair even Annabeth was envious of. Her unique features immediately gave her away, however, and identified her as one of the ones from House Raya. But which one?

Annabeth pursed her lips, subtly observing her out of the corner of her eye. The eldest daughter was married, so it was most likely not her… in fact, it was probably…

The blonde stiffened in realization: Drew Tanaka of House Raya, Crown Princess of Sumisu. She was to take Queen Medusa's position when she married Percy, at least, that was she suspected. She watched carefully as Percy traded a reluctant glance with his father. Her heart hammered nervously in her chest. She had to say yes, or did she? Yes, she did. She swallowed noisily.

"In the eyes of my royal father and the noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage. I

pledge myself to you, Drew Tanaka Raya. Will you accept?" His voice was clear and confident, just like a ruler's should be, but her attention fixated on the way his finger tapped his other hand twice, what she could only assume was a nervous gesture. Percy's words only confirmed Annabeth's suspicions. Drew would be Queen by this time next year and if all went as planned, perhaps they wouldn't be in the midst of a bloody war.

"I accept." She was cool, collected, poised, everything Annabeth was supposed to be, but had added her own flair to- a flair she suspected Athena did not approve of.

Luke glanced momentarily up at his brother before looking at her and her blood immediately roared in her ears. His gaze was heated and she could feel the pressure in her rising, threatening to choke her. She only had to say two measly words. Surely even _she_ couldn't fuck that up.

"In the eyes of my royal father and the noble court, I would ask for your hand in marriage. I pledge myself to you, Annabeth Chase Ashington. Will you accept?" he repeated Percy's proposal, exchanging her name for Drew's. Her name sounded strange in his mouth, almost as if she was hovering over this scene up in the heavens above, critically watching as the nervous, golden-haired girl trembled at his words.

"I accept," Annabeth managed to say, her voice steady, though her emotions were anything both. She felt like a wreck, about to collapse any second. A wave of exhaustion crashed into her and suddenly she wanted nothing more but to curl up in her library and lose herself in her books. What would Jane Eyre do? What about Lucie Manette? Or Elizabeth Bennet? Annabeth clasped her hands together in front of her, hoping to steady her arms, praying desperately that this spotlight would shine elsewhere, not on her and her weaknesses.

Finally, after what seemed like a million years, Athena began to talk, her natural charisma drawing the royals in. She made a toast to happy marriages for Malcolm and Bianca, Percy and Bianca, and finally for Luke and herself.

However, Annabeth had stopped listening a little while back, her head throbbing, an unnatural buzzing filling her brain and ringing irritatingly. She absentmindedly if Malcolm had felt this way: trapped, as good as dead, done for. She could see her freedom slipping between her fingers, she could see the light, and though she had no doubt that Luke would only speak to her when necessary, she wasn't sure was cut out for this lifestyle, this purely political marriage. She was married to her cause, to the future of Ashington. Again, she paled at the thought. She would be torn from this home, sent to live in stupid, watery, Thasite. Thasite had so many bodies of water she feared she would drown, and it always smelled of salty sea water like Percy- not necessarily unpleasant, but unfamiliar. It would never be her home, Luke would never be her home. Annabeth could practically see her next few weeks now, clear as day. Choosing between a bunch of white dresses that all looked the same to her, fussing over flowers and food, picking a cake, and a new crown, picking rings, all to be some other country's Princess. Annabeth pushed the bile down in her throat.

Though she was still standing on Epresh soil, she already felt like she was drowning in Thasite, her head under water, screaming desperately for someone to come save her, but she was utterly and hopelessly alone. The water was filling her lungs quickly, sparing no air and swallowing the words in her throat as it pulled her under, never to see the light again.


	5. Annabeth Pays Extra for Rapid Delivery

**Piper**

Part of Piper wanted to be horrified. Obviously, Aphrodite had kept this big plan under wraps, hiding the details even from her. Absentmindedly, she wondered what Silena would make of this. Were these kingdoms so desperate to make Drew the Queen of Thasite? Was the war hanging over their heads like a sword really that much of a threat?

Piper had never really gotten involved in politics. It wasn't her place, nor her passion, because what was deemed to be 'her place' had never really stopped her before. She hid her frown in her glass, her kaleidoscope eyes nervously flitting around the ballroom. The other part of her was purely relieved, for selfish reasons. She didn't want to be Queen of… anywhere. Everyone else had so much to say, but she'd always felt like she didn't fit in, that she was nobody. Choosing to embrace these harsh feelings from an early age, Piper had discovered that there were definite advantages to being the youngest sibling in a royal family. She had more freedom in her day to day activities and her parents didn't constantly hover over her, watching her every move. She would not be married off so hastily and unlike Silena, and even Drew, she would have the most choice when her time came. Perhaps she could choose nobody, shock the entire kingdom, send her father, King Tristan, into a coronary. She concealed her smile, amused by the thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a young man, quiet with strong blue eyes, tanned skin, and a chiseled jawline. His good looks were not a surprise to her. Though the most attractive royals were House Raya, her house, and the most fashionable citizens resided in her country, Sumisu, royals tended to be on the more attractive side in general. Glancing quickly at him to get a look without him noticing, she peered back into her glass hastily. What surprised her, actually, was his silence. Royals never seemed to get enough, blabbing on relentlessly about their accomplishments, flashing their money, and subtly-not-so-subtly engaging in a million pissing contests with the other royals. Like everything, it was just one big powerful competition. After all, to look powerful was to be powerful.

His silence was admirable and drawn to his quiet, calm soul, she decided to approach him. All would be revealed in a matter of a few seconds, she knew. If he got that stupid cocky grin that every other man she approached did, she would drop him real quick because apparently slapping people was frowned upon. If he boasted, she would be out of there before he could complete his sentence. Piper had no patience for bullshit. Give her something real, something raw, something to believe in, and she would show just what it meant to be alive, to _feel_ alive.

"Quite the party," Piper mentioned casually, sashaying easily to his side. She watched his eyes carefully. They lingered too long on something, or rather _someone,_ in the crowd before meeting hers. Briefly, she glanced out to what he was looking at.

A sting of sympathy pained her heart. His gaze had been on none other than Princess Annabeth Chase. She was beautiful, Piper acknowledged, and he had good taste, but she had just recently and publically been proposed to by Luke Castellan, another pawn of this grand scheme, and had accepted. Her golden curls cascaded down her back gracefully and she was tall, taller than Piper, absolutely stunning. Bless his poor heart. She looked up at the young man in front of her before he noticed she'd caught his gaze. Strangely, the expression on his face wasn't wistful, like she'd expected. It was… surprised.

"Piper McLean of House Raya, Princess of Sumisu," he choked out, his voice strangely strained, and he dipped his head, bowing low in front of her. This time, she could not mask her own shock. Only then she realized his clothes. They were silver with amber, so there was no way he was in love with Princess Annabeth, and furthermore, his lapels were highly decorated with military badges. One golden one in particular stood out- the symbol of Epresh's royal guard. Her mouth went dry. How could she have mistaken him for a royal? What a fatal mistake. _Fuck._ She wasn't supposed to talk to him, nor he to her. Well, this was uncomfortable.

"My apologies, sir, I was under the impression you were a royal," she quickly added, her face feeling hot. She had never studied very hard, thinking that there were too many countries, too many kingdoms, with too many children. What nonsense. But… now it was not nonsense, just something that could have been her saving grace.

"No need to apologize, my Lady. It is I who must apologize for gaining your attention. The guard should not be noticed," his cheeks were dusted pink as well. Piper sighed softly, tired of this little dance. Tired of him apologizing for something that was not his fault, but because he had to, because she was some stupid royal. Resisting the urge to tell him to stop apologizing, that her title meant nothing, to please don't treat her like she was on some pedestal, she just nodded, irrationally disappointed.

"That explains your careful watch on the Princess, then," she didn't know what possessed her to say it. She should've just walked away. Piper didn't want to get him in trouble, and now that she understood he was probably Princess Annabeth's personal guard, she was most definitely not supposed to engage in a conversation with him.

"Yes, my Lady," said the guard, nervously and embarrassed. Maybe he was embarrassed of her. The thought was strangely depressing.

"You can call me Piper, you know," she rolled her eyes, without thinking much of it. When his entire face turned beet red, she realized her mistake. _Shit, shit, shit._ Piper admonished herself. WAY OUT OF LINE, MCLEAN! He could not call her Piper! Was she out of her fucking mind?!

"Yes… _Piper_ ," he amended, albeit awkwardly. He seemed unsettled. Piper wished she could curl up in a ditch and die. They awkwardly stared at each other in silence.

"You don't say much do you, sir?" she asked, hoping to break the quiet.

"No… Piper." He shifted his weight onto his left foot, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He didn't meet her gaze.

"Would you rather call me by my title?" she cringed. She was surely making him uncomfortable.

"Yes, my Lady," he sounded relieved. He glanced back up at the scene of in front of them, people dancing, chatting, servers weaving between clusters of people, all dressed ridiculously and pompously. She wrinkled her nose at their extravagant, floppy hats, and painted faces, their arms adorned with heavy, chunky bracelets, their skin hardly peeking through the gaudy jewelry. Another way to flash their money, she supposed. Piper saw the guard's eyes focus on the blonde once more, his face serious and composed once more. Maybe that was his way of telling her to fuck off. Strange. She'd never really been dismissed by anyone than perhaps her mother and occasionally, her father.

"I'll leave you to it, then," she acquiesced, nodding at him and ignoring the few glances she got from nearby royals who had noticed that she was speaking with a guard. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, once again…" she trailed off, fishing for his name. Piper wasn't quite sure what it was, but something about him intrigued her and she wanted to know more. She wasn't sure where this silly fascination would lead her or when it would end, but she could at least know his name. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.

"Jason Grace, your Highness," he didn't look at her, still focused on the Princess of Epresh.

"...Jason," she finished, finding that she quite liked the way his name tasted in her mouth. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, ever the gentleman, and she drifted away, roaming aimlessly through the crowd of people. Some perfumes and colognes were too strong, overwhelming her senses, but people made room for her, acknowledging that she was in one of the most important, wealthy Houses there were. But even as she talked to other young men and women, recognizing some that would pass her mother's requirements for a suitor, she realized that her opinion on marriage had not changed, not for any of these presumptuous, haughty boys. She was good on her own.

Except perhaps… perhaps there was something underneath Jason Grace's tough exterior. Perhaps he, like her, would like to run away from this hell, from parties and royals, would like to live among the humbler of the citizens, would like to explore the fields with her, would like to battle the pirates of her imagination with her. She had never before considered that someone else could run with her, could escape with her. In her mind, her dream had always been her, and her alone, but perhaps a friend like Jason Grace was what she needed. Someone to ground her and keep her from getting in too much trouble, but someone to indulge in her crazy, delusional dreams with her, to help her leave this life she had not asked for. Whoever said that dreams were a one-woman job? A faithful partner in crime. Yes, Piper could live with that.

She pursed her lips, zoning out of whatever the boy in front of her was boasting about, trying much too hard to impress her. She nodded as if she was listening, but in reality, she was somewhere else entirely, as she always was.

Together, they could turn her can'ts into cans and her dreams into plans.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth wished she could preface her actions, tell everyone that she was well aware that this was perfectly ludicrous and certifiably _insane._ But after a long ball and the shocking engagement to a Calbourne Prince of course, she wanted to do what she always did. She'd retired to her bedroom, allowed her handmaidens to undress her and put her in silk nightwear, only to change into something that a burglar would wear, trade a quick word with her worried royal guard, and slip out into the night.

Summoning her courage, she used two hands to tug the heavy switch back. The warm wind blew around her, the dark hood of her cape falling back and revealing her golden curls, stark bright in the dark of the night and colorful in the gloomy slums of Epresh.

Annabeth had been doing this since she was eight, without her parents' knowledge of course. And Malcolm's. She swallowed her guilt at climbing out the window once more, Jason standing outside her sleeping chambers, probably a nervous wreck. He had found out once when she was ten, that she snuck out to the villages and broken-down towns of Epresh in the night, a couple times a week. He was burdened the same as her, never to tell anyone. Or be killed for it.

Sue her for her curiosity. Annabeth knew, no matter how many books she read, nothing could substitute for real-life experience. She wanted to see the poorer areas for herself, see the impoverished, the hungry, the bitter, and the pained. The ones royals turned a cheek to, the ones they blindly turned away from. They were too busy sitting on their thrones to realize that people were fucking suffering, _suffering._ And the greatest sufferers, the women, ruled by the men of the country, ruled like a Queen was a rank below the King. A bitter taste ran through Annabeth's mouth, making her face crumple with memories. When she was nine, she had handed a young girl a loaf of bread, one she'd gratefully devoured, not knowing she had been in the presence of the Princess. Annabeth concealed herself well each night, hidden by a dark black cape with a hood to cover her face, and the plainest, dark grey surcoat she owned. Of course her curiosity had ruined her. By the time she was twelve, she'd seen more death than Princes across the countries, training to be military generals. She'd watched, unable to speak up and blow her cover, as guards oppressed the townspeople, as women were hit, small children starved. Quiet.

Annabeth was done being quiet. Her snooping and trading of many gold coins had finally earned her adequate information. And all of it pointed to one thing:

The Amazons.

What King Frederick referred to as terrorists. They were scattered across multiple countries, including Epresh, an undercover operation that had bombed many royal monuments, statues of former Kings, an organization of badass women warriors, who could fight and _well._ Who were starting a revolution for females, who were avenging their sisters, who accepted few men, only those worthy, truly worthy, and possessed both bark and bite. Though King Frederick often brushed off their presence, Annabeth was the queen of lies and she could spot one a mile away. The Amazons worried him and the other royal houses as well. They were a frequent topic of conversation and when the royal council met, it was not uncommon for someone to scream _death to the Amazons_ in the middle of the briefing. It scared them beyond anything else. They feared that their power as a monarchy would be overruled, overrun by the Amazons, that men would fall to the wrath of women, that everything they knew would shatter to a million pieces.

Dressed head to toe in gold, the very same gold told to be the color the ancient Gods bled, they scared the living shit out of the royals, sparking fear for men and hope for women as they left nothing but destruction of the patriarch in their wake. A new time was coming and Annabeth was ready to fight on the winning side in the end. The time for silence was over. Now they had to ascend, for gold and glory.

As the blonde finally unstuck the lever, the dark tunnel below lit up, the torches on the side casting a warm glow on the stone corridor. There was no turning back now. All she could do was pray they wouldn't kill her, pray for someone to have mercy on her soul.

* * *

**Percy**

Percy walked side by side with the daughter of Queen Aphrodite and King Tristan, the exhaustion of the evening finally catching up with him. He couldn't wait to get out of his military General uniform. He was sure it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as Drew's shoes- he suspiciously eyed them as she elegantly lifted the hem of her dress as they ascended the staircase- but he had never been a fan of dressing up. Perhaps that's why he adored training so much.

As casually as he could, he sized up the petite woman. He mildly wondered if her ego made up for her small frame. She was pretty, no doubt about it. He wasn't exactly surprised, in all honesty. Not only was she an elite, royal lady, but she was of House Raya- the prettiest of them all. Her dark, glossy hair framed her face perfectly, and her cheeks had a natural blush to it. Her chocolate eyes were dark, but he wasn't fooled, not daring trust her, not this easily. So far, he'd concluded that she truly had no discernable personality and so he feared when it finally shone through, it would blind him. There had to be something off. Still, Percy kept his mouth shut. She could not know that he suspected something was wrong, she could not know that he wished he wasn't getting married, she could not know that he, too, was only marrying to make Medusa happy. Her wish was his demand, that's just how it worked.

"My Lady," he gestured to her door, feeling extremely uncomfortable. King Frederick had sent a servant to show the royal children their sleeping chambers ahead of time and for once, Percy was extremely grateful. Imagine how embarrassing it would have been to lead a Princess to her room, only to find that he didn't know what the hell was going on.

" _Perhaps someone else should guide Lady Tanaka to her room. We wouldn't want to tempt the newly engaged couple."_

Percy shuddered at Aphrodite's words, Medusa's amused, knowing expression haunting him. Tempt? With her? _Please._ If he knew what was good for him and could summon enough courage, Percy probably would have ran for the hills by now. Only, that was the move of a cowardice and though Percy was many things, he was not a coward.

" _Let it go, darling. Let the boy live a little," Poseidon had said._

If they really wanted to let him leave, he wouldn't be there, engaged to the she-devil herself, unsettled and uncomfortable.

"Thank you for escorting me, Prince," Drew was all smiles for him, her teeth sheathed, and her lips pressed together like a proper, poised Princess. He shifted his weight on his other foot.

"It was my pleasure, Lady Tanaka," he lied through his teeth, feigning happiness. But he had never been good at concealing his emotions. She outstretched her hand and Percy's face felt warm, too warm. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against her fair skin, not quite meeting her eyes. She seemed pleased enough, much to his relief.

"I must bid you goodnight now, sir," she didn't bow, she wasn't supposed to, but she offered a polite nod. He took a step back from her door, letting her slip past him without having to deal with physical contact. Kissing her hand was more than enough for one day. Or week. Or Year. Or even lifetime. As soon as her door shut behind her, saving him from her simpering expression and batting of dark eyelashes.

Percy let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. Good riddance.

Spinning on his heels, he stalked back to his own bedroom, eager to be left alone with his own thoughts. Alone and content.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth finally reached another trap door. It felt like she had been wandering through the cold hallway for ages. Tentatively, she reached up and drew her hood over her hair again. Then, holding her breath, she opened the trap door and slipped in.

Once inside, Annabeth barely had a moment to take in her surroundings before…

A dagger, clean and silver, was pressed to her throat and for a moment, Annabeth feared this was the end. That she had come this far only to be killed upon arrival. It seemed like a cruel trick of the fates, played only upon her.

"A woman," the girl said, her bright blue eyes sparkling. For some reason, she seemed familiar to her. She looked serious, her dark, spiky hair falling a bit into her eyes. Annabeth had no doubt she could flick her wrist and end her life in an instant. "State your reason for being here." So she spoke.

"I wish to speak with your leader."

"Leader? Don't be foolish. The Amazons are not stupid enough to keep our leader here." Her mouth twisted down and Annabeth couldn't help but think it didn't suit her. She was quite pretty, actually, Annabeth acknowledged.

"Then whoever is in charge," Annabeth acquiesced, daring not move.

"Why should I bother the General with you?" she inquired, and Annabeth thought she would melt from her glare.

Annabeth pushed her hood back now and the girl's eyes widened fractionally in surprise. "A _royal_ ," she hissed, angrily, practically spitting out Annabeth's rank.

"I am Princess Annabeth, and I wish to speak with the General." She didn't flinch, hoping her boldness would guarantee her a show with the General.

"Very well," she took her dagger back, slowly. It would not be wise to outright harm the Princess. In some ways, Annabeth's title, when wielded correctly, was sharper than the wickedness of noble swords. "Come," the girl demanded, leading her away from the trap door and leaving some other girl in charge of guarding. She seemed to have some authority of her own, for the other girl simply nodded and did as she was told. Taking long strides despite the fact that she was shorter than Annabeth, she started down the well-lit shop, goods being manufactured and the torches shedding light on them both. Annabeth idly wondered if they were running some sort of business before she scurried to keep up. At her confused expression, the girl spoke up. "We run Amazon," she explained. Annabeth was bewildered. The big business that sold pretty much _everything_ was run by Amazons? The girl looked smug, as if she knew that Annabeth wouldn't know this. Annabeth suspected only big black market dealers and the Amazons themselves knew this.

"Can I buy a new dagger?" Annabeth asked. She was hoping that after speaking to the General, the sword would be gold… gold like the Amazons.

The girl frowned as if she had not considered that before. Perhaps enemies didn't invest in their business often. "I suppose. Rapid delivery? It's extra."

Annabeth was surprised by her response. In all honesty, she'd just been expecting a harsh glare and maybe another dagger to the throat. "Yes." Fishing a decent amount of coins out of her cape's concealed pockets, she placed in the girl's palm.

"You can pick a dagger model to be made and sent to you on your way out," she decided, her cold demeanor fading slowly. Maybe Annabeth should've just said she wanted to buy something before demanding to see the Amazon leader. Annabeth just nodded, following closely as the girl led her past many other gold warriors, all engaging in various tasks, all intimidating and powerful. Annabeth glanced wistfully at their armor- a sharp contrast to her dumb grey surcoat. What she wouldn't do to be share their power.

"Keep up," the girl snapped, pulling Annabeth out of her wandering mind. Hurriedly, Annabeth pattered behind her, her footsteps light like the girl's, but whereas Annabeth's was that of a lady, the girl's were nimble like a hunter. Annabeth envied her grace- a different kind of grace, like the grace of the lion, not a lamb- and this time focused on keeping up. She didn't want to piss her off more than she already had.

Once in the grand room the girl had led her to, Annabeth quickly surveyed her surroundings. The ceiling was tall, taller than Annabeth would have thought possible for an underground lair. Her eyes fell on the girl in front of her and she could only assume that this was the General. She had dark hair, braided back neatly, and she, like the girl who had brought Annabeth in, was dressed in the daunting gold, complete with gold weapons, breastplates, and shields. She was intimidating, to say the least.

Just by looking at her, Annabeth could see how she ruled this branch of the Amazons. Her jaw was set, her dark eyes devoid of emotion, and her face was regal. If this had been a different circumstance, Annabeth might have mistaken her for a royal.

"General Reyna," she introduced herself and didn't nod, only staring at Annabeth. She didn't sit on a throne- Amazons only had one Queen and the girl who had brought her in had said their leader was not here- but yet she still towered over the blonde, both in physical height and radiance of power and courage. "And this is my right hand woman, Lieutenant Thalia." She barely gestured to the blue-eyed girl, who allowed a small smile at her commander. Reyna's eyes softened at her Lieutenant and she dipped her head in greeting at her fellow Amazon warrior.

"You are a royal," Reyna stated the obvious to begin with. "Let's not waste time in some foolish dance. Why are you here?" she demanded. Her eyes were cold and calculating, much like the blonde's.

"I see you. You are a bigger threat to the royals than they let show," she cautiously admitted. Annabeth knew she must be careful with what information she disclosed, at least, until she was where she wanted to be with the Amazons.

"I know," said Reyna, coolly. Annabeth pressed her lips tight together. The darker-skinned girl studied Annabeth carefully, making her feel more vulnerable than if she was naked. "What do you have to give? You have everything. You are bathed in more gold than I am dressed in," her eyes sparkled in something like dark amusement. "You do not need us." Her challenge was plain as day: prove yourself. Why should they trust her? Annabeth had to sell herself first.

"I am knowledgeable. It would be in your best interest to use me to further your cause. The royals, though we do not suffer in the same way the people in the poorer areas of these countries do, the royal women are still at a disadvantage. I want more," Annabeth revealed.

"You want more?" Her dark eyes glittered dangerously and Annabeth's scalp prickled with fear- had she said something wrong? "You want to rule?"

"No," Annabeth said immediately. "I just don't want to be someone's pawn." She met Reyna's gaze with a fierce expression of her own, the underlying message clear. She would not be Reyna's pawn either. Reyna had to sell herself just as much as Annabeth had to. They were both valuable assets to each other.

"You got engaged today," Reyna pointed out. Word sure traveled fast- Annabeth had only gotten engaged that very evening. "Why shouldn't we believe this is just you not wanting to get married to another privileged asshole? The Amazons don't operate to serve you nor your King."

"You think I want to be married to be someone else's Princess?" Annabeth shook her head. "I want the revolution. I'm not a fan of the blood that will be spilled, but sacrifice is necessary for every great movement. Their reign is over. We have a right to our own minds and our own lives."

Reyna paused and for a moment, Annabeth thought she was going to kick her out, or worse- kill her- but Reyna changed the topic entirely instead, surprising the blonde.

"Do you know of Juniper?"

Annabeth's blood ran cold. Everyone knew that name. "Yes, of course."

"Who was she?" Reyna prodded.

"A young, poor woman. Made it to barely twenty," Annabeth repeated, her throat tight. She had never known Juniper, of course, she was just a common townswoman, but her heart went out for her.

"And do you know what happened to her, _Princess_?" Reyna's tone was condescending, but calm and steady, despite her use of Annabeth's title. Annabeth didn't give a damn about her title.

"She tried to protest the monarchy. She tried to make a new life for herself, have her own business, be free of her parents' wishes."

"And?" Reyna pressed her further. Thalia quietly stood, stonily next to her General- and close friend- Annabeth assumed. The Lieutenant's eyes fell to the ground, quietly respecting Juniper, another one of their fallen sisters, though Juniper had never been an Amazon. They respected her, as all women did.

"They killed her for it. They killed her, and I have to act like it doesn't bother me." Her face darkened and she swallowed hard.

"You're dead if you don't," Reyna affirmed.

"I know that. But—" Her voice caught a little, on the edge of this new path. "I'm in the palace, the center of _their_ world, of the royals and of politics. Of the divide between rank, gender, and wealth. I'm quick, I'm quiet, and I can help the cause."

Thalia sucked in a ragged breath, pulling back to her full height. Despite her anger earlier, the one regarding Annabeth's rank, there was now something like pride shining in her eyes. "You want to join up." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"I do."

Reyna clenched her jaw, his stare piercing through Annabeth. "I hope you know what you're committing to. This isn't just my war or Thalia's or the Amazons' or our leader's—it's yours. Until the very end. And not to avenge one person- not Juniper or anyone else- or to earn you your silly position on the royal council, but to avenge us all. To fight for the ones before, and to save the ones yet to come. To earn our place, we must fight the monarchy as well." Somehow, Reyna knew of Annabeth's plans to fight for the royal council. Never had Annabeth imagined that they knew _this_ much about her. Though Annabeth dared not make the mistake of underestimating them, she had still not yet realized the power and dangerousness of the Amazons. This organization, she realized, had started out as a refuge for angry housewives and had transformed into a rebellion- a rebellion that would bring the monarchy down alongside the patriarchy. Annabeth, too, would be killed for royalty if she wasn't their ally. Thalia's scarred hand reached for Annabeth and for the first time, she noticed a tattoo around her wrist: a golden band. Like the ones most Amazons wore. Except now she was wearing hers forever. It was part of her, like the blood in her veins.

"Are you with us, Annabeth Chase?" she asked, her hand closing over the blonde's. More war, more death, King Frederick had said. But there was a chance he was wrong. There was a chance they, together, could change it.

Annabeth's fingers tightened, holding on to the smaller, stronger woman. She could feel the weight of her action, the importance behind it.

"I'm with you."

Thalia handed her a golden band of her own, but paused when Reyna's eyes darted up to Annabeth's hair- golden like the Amazons. She could be their mascot, their symbol of hope, and she alone would be the face of the future.

"Gold," Reyna pointed out, her chin jutting towards Annabeth's locks of hair. "Perhaps you'll fit alright after all." She shared a look with Thalia, though Annabeth couldn't quite detect the expression on her face. Thalia's face was grim, her mouth set in a straight, determined line. She finally handed Annabeth the rough, cotton golden band, a symbol of her alliance with the Amazons. She would never be able to wear it- that was too obvious- but perhaps Annabeth could invest in a golden pin, a small pin that only Amazons and supporters considering the rebellion would notice when she was broadcasted all over the country- the country's beloved Princess. A small symbol that would tell the people what she was fighting for, but would not alert the royals of her newfound loyalty and end in her execution.

"We will ascend," the blue-eyed girl breathed, in unison with the General. Annabeth then remembered the words and spoke with them.

"For gold and glory."

In the flickering candlelight, their shadows looked like monsters on the walls.

* * *

**Nico**

The bed was cold and unfamiliar. Lonely.

It was a feeling Nico was well acquainted with. This life, it was always lonely, and he knew, deep down, that it always would be. His father was proof enough. But Hades had Persephone and try as he might, Nico could not imagine himself like that.

Not curled up next to a lover when it was dark out. Not tenderly brushing back their hair out of their face. Not waking up next to them, their face the first thing they saw each morning and the last thing he laid eyes upon before he drifted off into his unsettling sleeping. Not tangled up with someone to love between the ivory sheets. Not sitting on a throne next to someone who shared his thoughts without ever having to voice them. Not alone.

Heavy was the head that wore the crown. And sharp were the arrows of a broken heart.

The bed was too big for him and not for the first time, Nico felt small. He felt old, aged beyond his years. The Crown Prince, Perseus, he was eighteen. And Crown Prince Malcolm, he was nineteen. And one of the newer Kings, Malcolm, he was twenty. Nico was _sixteen._ He wasn't ready to take over a country, a kingdom, but Hades was only too eager to give it up, to hold Nico to the same standards as the older boys.

His face was pale, the moonlight streaming through the window only adding to the effect. Nico missed his home, but at this point, he wasn't quite sure where home was anymore. It wasn't Jirot, not with House Pevanshire- Persephone and Hades, maybe Bianca. It certainly wasn't here in House Ashington's cold castle. He supposed his own stone structure actually had a lower temperature, but after the ball, this place had just felt cold and nothing more. But in all honesty, Nico had felt this eternal winter ever since he was a young boy. It was an iciness that no fire could thaw, an intense, frigid feeling that lived inside him, one that he could not escape. It breathed with him, grew with him, freezing over all it touched. It was alive, not like Nico.

Staring at the silver ceiling, the corner of his mouth twitched in dry amusement. Funny that it was called a King-sized bed and yet, Nico didn't feel like he fit. Eternity seemed to pass and only then, Nico's eyes fluttered shut, his long, dark eyelashes casting ghostly shadows across his cheekbones. Even in his sleep, his forehead wrinkled in worry. An eternal concern for an eternal night, for an eternally young King-to-be. His dreams clouded quickly, haunted by nightmares like always.

" _Nico?" her voice was familiar, comforting, and… painfully distanced._

_He blindly reached out. He knew this dream, he'd had it a million times, and yet, the pain didn't ever seem to fade. As always, she was just out of reach, mere centimeters away from his fingertips. He wanted so badly to scream, but his voice failed him when he needed it most._

" _Nico? Why did you abandon me?" her voice was laced with pain._

" _I didn't! I didn't, I swear it!" his voice was hoarse, but she couldn't hear him, couldn't see him. And when he saw her, he saw too much. He saw her sunken-in cheeks, her pale face, delicate and watery, with tears streaming down. He saw her skinny body, pointy elbows, and brittle hair. Like the walking dead. Swallowing down bile, he resisted against the invisible forcefield. She didn't like herself, but she was her, without a doubt. And he would not let her go so easily._

_But this nightmare, framed like a dream, ended the same way every time._

" _Bianca!" he fell to his knees, helpless, his eyes blown wide like doors- watching in horror as she stepped further and further away from him. "No- don't. No! Bianca, watch your-"_

_And then she was gone, fading before his very eyes, gone without a trace, without so much as a goodbye._

Startled, Nico shot up in his bed, waking up in a cold sweat. Every time he had to watch the blood stain her dress a dirty crimson. Every time he suffered, watching her vanish before him, unable to stop her from her demise. Unable to save her from whatever was after her. He was like a broken record on repeat, the same dream over and over again every night, only varying in the ways she left, but the end was the same every time: she was there, dying, and he could only watch, tortured.

Though it wasn't his darkest secret nor fear, he was paralyzed each time. Would he freeze if it happened in real life? Especially with this new plan and Persephone's participation, offering her children for this scheme, every moment he was alive was a gamble. And his sister's life, it was not something he was ready to risk. He could not shake the irrational fear that one day he would wake up and she would be gone, the same as in his nightmares, only then, it would be some twisted version of reality. So he pushed her away more, each and every day. Perhaps he could save her by keeping her from him, perhaps if she didn't love him anymore, maybe her life would be spared from Nico and his demons. If he couldn't be free, perhaps he could cut her chains and let her go. But what if, in cutting her loose, he cut her strings instead, and accidentally let her fall? What if it was already too late?

Nico glanced at his hands, leaning against the headboard and breathing harshly. His palms were pale, clean. But in his nightmares, they were always coated with blood- _her_ blood. There was no doubt about it. When the time came, her blood would be on his hands, it would be all his fault, however indirectly it might have been. Nico scowled out the window, attempting to steady his rapidly palpitating heart. Bianca was all he had left and he'd be damned to let her leave so easily. He would not lose her too.

Not like he'd lost himself.

* * *

**Annabeth**

As stealthy as possible, she slipped through her bedroom window once more, having sneaked through the cellar. She dared not scale the side of a huge-ass castle. But this time, with this new pressure weighing on her, she needed desperately to tell someone, to share her burden.

Cautiously, she cracked open her bedroom door from the inside. Sure enough, Jason was standing out there, nervous as hell (probably anxiously awaiting her return). He relaxed, only for a moment, when he saw her, but his eyes widened in shock at the golden band in her hand. His mouth fell open in a perfect _o,_ his expression frightened.

"You didn't," he refused to believe it.

"I did," Annabeth confirmed.

He blanched, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. " _Princess_ ," he hissed, alarmed. "What were you thinking?" he berated. Had it been anyone but her best friend, Annabeth would have immediately admonished them for speaking to her with such disrespect. Royal or not, she didn't take anyone's shit. Not now, not ever. But this was Jason and he was only looking out for her.

"I… don't know," she admitted. Now that the adrenaline wasn't pulsing through her, she was beginning to wonder if she'd made the right decision. "I'm just tired of this, sir. I want change." But the fire was gone from her eyes.

"And the monarchy? My Lady, alongside the patriarchy, the Amazons plan to destroy all of royalty, turn into a democracy like our upstairs neighbors," said Jason, ever the voice of reason. Annabeth pursed her lips. But Canada's democracy had not failed them, not yet, and she seriously doubted it ever would. A country run by the people… it was an interesting approach, for sure, and it appealed to her.

"It'll fall," she whispered, her voice low and hushed like his. If anyone else caught wind of her alliance with the Amazons, it was off with her head.

"But this plan, my Lady…"

Annabeth's face darkened. "What about it?"

"Princess, Queen Athena plans to end the wars, including Amazonian destruction," he slowly revealed. His tone was measured but something dark crawled inside of Annabeth nonetheless. How could Jason know more about this grand scheme than her? Sure, he was a big part of Epresh's security and military ranks, but she was the fucking _Princess._ Swallowing the betrayal of her mother, Annabeth temporarily ignored it. She would figure that out later, but now, she had bigger issues to deal with.

Slowly, she connected the dots. "They want to use me to stop a rebellion. Somehow."

"Yes, King Frederick and his Queen believe you can do so, if used appropriately." Bitterness drips from his every word.

"It's a stupid idea and impossible. I won't be able to do anything, and then . . ." Her voice trailed away. _Then they'd kill her._ The only question was would it be the honor of the royals or the Amazons.

Jason followed her train of thought. "You're wrong, my Lady. You don't understand the power you have now, how much you could control." He clasped his hands behind his back, oddly tight. "The Amazons are too drastic for most, too much too fast. But you are the controlled change, the kind people can trust. You are the slow burn that will quench a revolution with a few speeches and smiles. You can speak to the women, tell them how noble, how benevolent, how right the King and his men are. You can talk your people back into their chains. Even the men who question the King, the ones who have doubts, can be convinced by you. And the world will stay the same."

To her surprise, Jason seemed disheartened by this. Without the attention of the entire world on her, she forget herself and her face curled into an uncharacteristic sneer. "And you don't want that? You're a man of the royal court, you should hate the Amazons—and now me. They certainly hate you for serving the monarchy." It felt wrong to accuse. Jason was her best friend in many ways, but at the end of the day, their gender divided them just as well as their choices and their ranks.

"Thinking all men are evil is just as wrong as thinking all women are inferior," he said, his voice grave. "And thinking all royals are evil is just as wrong as thinking all commonfolk are inferior. What my people are doing to you and yours is wrong to the deepest levels of humanity. What our people- the monarchy- does to the poor, that too, is wrong. Oppressing them, trapping them in an endless cycle of poverty and death, just because we think they are different from us? That is not right. And as any student of history can tell you, it will end poorly."

Annabeth frowned. "You could join too, you know. They make exceptions for certain men. They will accept you, surely." Her voice wavered, unsure even to her own standards. This cruelty was not their choice, it was the choice of the current Kings and Queens, the older generations. They could make change.

Jason shook his head, no. "It is not my place, my Lady."

"So you'll spill my secrets, then?" Disappointment flared deep in her gut. They would kill him for being part of the royal court and based off the look on his face, he knew it. He had accepted it and was a dead man walking. Annabeth felt sick to her stomach, the understanding of her promise finally reaching its peak of weight.

"Never, Annabeth. Friends before all else," he promised, his voice steady. Her shoulders relaxed. "I will root for you success, quietly and behind the scenes perhaps, but I will help you however I can. It is my duty, after all." The corner of his mouth twitched in a sad smile. Annabeth's heart felt heavy too. It felt good to hear her real name in his mouth. It had been so long, not since she was a young girl and Jason was just beginning training, a small boy, around her age, training alongside the big guards to be her personal protector when she was grown. They had come a long way.

"I'll protect you," she choked, her facade momentarily crumbling before both their eyes. The irony was not lost on her.

"No," his eyes were gentle, yet pained, pained to see her pained. "You must first protect yourself and always ever yourself. You are the the swallow in this revolution. Without you, there is no revolution." Jason was so sure, so calm, that it made her want to sob. She stood tall and straight, nodding minutely. He remembered, he knew her too well. The swallow had been a symbol of hope, in Aesop's fables and numerous other historical literature. It symbolized hope, in part because it was among the first birds to appear at the end of winter and the start of spring. Of course he remembered her love of reading, that only she would understand his reference.

"Now I must bid you goodnight, my Lady," Jason concluded, and they were once more formal, distanced, as they pretended to be all the time. He was nothing more than a highly decorated servant, a warrior, and her, a feisty Princess with too much on her mind. Though she knew she must end this conversation before someone saw them speaking for a suspiciously long time, Annabeth was reluctant to shut the door. It felt like, in some ways, by shutting the door to her bedroom, she was cementing the wall between them, this great divide that she feared she would never overcome.

"Goodnight, sir," she swallowed down her tears, refusing to let them fall, trying to be brave for him, for herself. And when she was sure nobody was looking, she reached out, enveloping him in a warm, fierce hug. He was taller than her now (she still remembered when they were younger and she'd teased him for being the bigger one), but he still smelled of the wind, rain, and sky, he was still solid and familiar, reassuring. His eyes widened in surprise but after a beat, he relented, wrapping his arms around her tightly because he could never hold her like this again, not truly. She was under the watchful eye of the kingdom, the royals, and now the Amazons, too. He breathed in the scent of her hair, the sweet, citrusy lemon of her shampoo, and finally let her go, even when she wanted nothing more than to hold on. Jason had always been able to exercise more control than her. He was a soldier, born and bred. Then she stepped back and shut the door- the hardest thing she'd had to do in a long time- and slumped against the door. It felt so final, the click of the wooden door behind her.

She would rise too, rise alongside her newfound sisters, but still, in some ways, she would revolt and rebel alone. And deep down inside her, she knew without a doubt that she always would.

Her steel eyes hardened in determination. With all she knew at stake, this could not fail, _she_ would not fail.

_Ascend, for gold and glory._


	6. How To Spot A Passive Aggressive Partner

**Annabeth**

Annabeth hid a scowl. She was seated across from none other than her _fiancé_ at breakfast. On Prince Luke's right sat his older brother, Crown Prince Perseus. She supposed she shouldn't have been so pissed off; at least _she_ didn't have to sit next to Luke. The realization brought her solace.

She quietly ate her breakfast, subtly scrutinizing all of them. Crown Princess Bianca was seated on her left, which Annabeth didn't mind too much. She'd always liked the Pevanshires- they were good people, a little strange, but good. Crown Prince Nico was on Bianca's left and on her right was her favorite person at the entire table, her big brother, Crown Prince Malcolm. And, much to Annabeth's relief, the Kings and Queens of the other countries had already left for their own castles. It was only customary for the Princes and Princesses to stay, not the rulers of other countries. Crown Princess Drew was seated next to Percy and next to her was none other than the soft-spoken brunette, Princess Piper.

Breakfast was… awkward, to say the least. So Annabeth did her best to entertain herself by figuring them out, each one of the royal children. Knowledge was power and Annabeth was determined to be the most powerful of them all, one step ahead of Luke and his brother, of Drew and Piper, and even, admittedly, Nico and Bianca. Nico, she'd noticed, shifted his eyes too much. He seemed uncomfortable too, but he couldn't seem to hide his discomfort. Bianca was poised, the spitting image of a beautiful Queen, but her expression was still soft- the world had not got her down yet. She would make Malcolm a good Queen, Annabeth had decided. Drew, too, was pristine and elegant, her head held up haughtily on Percy's side. Annabeth didn't like her, she had come to that conclusion at least. She seemed… fake, and the blonde had no doubt that she was hiding something. And Piper, Annabeth wasn't sure what to make of her. She seemed nice enough, elegant enough, but much different than her sister. Her eyes also shifted around a lot, much like Nico.

And Luke, he was strange, she had decided. He was pale with strong, blue eyes and sandy, blond hair. He was quiet, hidden in his brother's shadow, but unsettling. Annabeth didn't quite like him yet. Or Percy, for that matter. She couldn't help but compare both brothers, but she wasn't sure she liked either of them if she was being honest. She was about to stare Percy down, see if she could make him uncomfortable when-

"Lady Annabeth, perhaps you would like to share your opinion?" It was Luke.

She jerked her gaze to look at him, masking her surprise. She was never asked for her opinion, only silenced. With a flush of embarrassment, she realized she hadn't been paying attention, zoned out as she assessed the royal children.

"We were simply discussing the Amazons," he informed her, correctly gauging her blush. "I've heard you're interested in politics?" _Shit. How had she not noticed they were talking about this of all things?_

Annabeth's involuntarily lips parted. He was asking her about _politics?_ She wasn't even supposed to know what politics were, not really! But she would not give up this chance so quickly. And the Amazons… she was one too, now.

"They're quite interesting," she admitted, managing to say that elegantly at least.

"Yes," Luke agreed, his blue gaze piercing. She glanced to his left for a moment and noticed that Percy was looking at her now, Malcolm too. Malcolm's expression was gentle, encouraging. He knew how much this meant to her, but he was there to help if she needed. Was this Luke's way of asking her to prove herself? Or did he actually care? No, that was much too improbable. Her mind whirred in overdrive as she scrambled for a response.

"They allied themselves with Canada today," Annabeth knew her current events better than anyone else.

"Indeed," Luke nodded minutely.

"But we always knew Canada was off their rocker, ever since they became a democracy," Percy spoke up now. Annabeth's hatred for him only heightened. Of course he was in love with the monarchy, what else could she expect? He was in love with his birthright, the crown that would one day sit on his head. Annabeth found herself wishing he would shut up, preferring Luke all of a sudden. At least Luke didn't say much in response to Percy's bold statement.

"I don't understand why Canada did it," Annabeth piped up now. "They are practically proclaiming war against us now."

"Exactly," Malcolm nodded, pursing his lips in thought. "Canada may have a strange government," Annabeth's heart sank in her chest. As much as she loved Malcolm, he too was in love with the monarchy, but she had known that for a while as well. "But," he continued, "they're not stupid. Why would they agree to an alliance unless they thought they could really win?"

"They won't win. We'll crush them," Percy looked at Malcolm. Malcolm nodded in agreement. They would certainly try.

"The Amazons are stronger than you think," Annabeth told Percy, trying not to reveal herself. But she couldn't help but defend the legion of women warriors.

"Stronger than us? I don't think so," Percy's eyes narrowed at her. "We're four nations brought together. Forged of the strongest metals," he barely nodded at Nico, "with the greatest of minds," he acknowledged Epresh, "with the most deadly poisons," he placed his hand on Drew's hand- and she looked pleased at the contact, "and the fiercest of seas," he pridefully tilted his chin up. "And you're telling me that a small rebel group, one that was founded a couple decades back because of bored housewives, will wipe out our entire forces simply because Canada decided to take pity on them?" He cocked his eyebrow, silently challenging her.

If Annabeth hadn't hated him before now, she surely did now. _Bored housewives!_ How she wished General Reyna could come kick his sorry ass now! Granted, he had only called the founders bored housewives, not the current generation of Amazons, but still. How dare he! Bastard! She fumed.

"You're a fool to underestimate them," said Annabeth without thinking much of it. Drew gasped dramatically and Annabeth wished she could smack the stupid look off her face as well. Piper's eyes had gone wide and Bianca's hand flew up to her mouth in surprise. Malcolm concealed his shock well, but he too was caught off guard. Only Nico and Luke seemed unaffected by her choice of words but for the love of God, you couldn't just go about calling the future King of Thasite a fucking _fool._

"A _fool?_ " Percy's eyebrows pinched together, not quite angry, but not pleased either. Well, fuck him. The corner of Nico's mouth lifted up in thinly veiled amusement. Annabeth knew she had been right to like him.

"Oh, my!" Drew cried out, fanning her face. "How your mother, Queen Athena, would wilt if she heard you!" she accused. Annabeth twitched to slap that stupid girl.

"I'm sure it was a mistake, my Lord," Bianca spoke up now, quickly coming to Annabeth's side. She seemed nervous, wringing her hands together. Perhaps she thought Percy would lose her temper. Annabeth's mouth curved up in amusement. She appreciated Bianca's loyalty, but she didn't need saving.

"It wasn't," she cheerfully affirmed, smirking at Percy. Annabeth was positive that Drew was going to turn green. Malcolm's mouth fell open and Nico coughed, choking down what she suspected was a laugh. Annabeth stood up, not waiting to be dismissed. She felt a surge of pride. She had asserted herself well enough, she thought. Piper couldn't tear her eyes away from the bold blonde.

Percy's mouth opened and closed at her audacity, like a fish, a stupid fish in his stupid seas. Annabeth hoped that he would drown in that water one day. The cruelest of irony- wonderful.

"You're a _damn_ fool, _Crown Prince_ Perseus," she repeated, condescending. "And if you continue down this overconfident path, it will be no surprise to me when the Amazons and Canada crush you to a million pieces." Percy stood up and so did Luke, ever faithful to his brother. She couldn't cuss, she couldn't call him a 'fool,' she was way out of line.

Malcolm jerked up now, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "Your Highness, I'm so sorry- I-"

"-and," Annabeth continued, speaking over her brother. Athena was going to kill her later. "When you're splattered pathetically across the ground, your red everywhere and out for display, I'll be the first to tell you 'I told you so.'"

"Annabeth!" Malcolm was horrified. Bianca took his side, loyal and gentle. But she too was flushed with embarrassment. Nico had finally stood up as well, probably just because everyone was starting to stand now.

"This was a lovely breakfast," Annabeth decided, smug. "We should do this again sometime, right Percy?" she cheekily asked. "I'll be in the library if you would like to further discuss this," she added, and before anyone else could say anything, she nodded only at Luke- a newfound respect for him worming its way into her heart, and finally flounced out of the dining hall, leaving the royal children to console Percy and his broken ego by themselves.

* * *

**Annabeth**

There was a knock on the heavy library doors and for a moment, the regret of her words caught up with Annabeth. What if it was Athena, here to disown her? Or worse, reprimand her?

Instead, a blond head poked his head into the library.

"Prince Luke," Annabeth couldn't hide her surprise. She hadn't been expecting Percy, sure, but she hadn't been expecting his brother either. "May I help you?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

"' _I'll be in the library if you would like to further discuss this'_ ," he quoted her earlier words, shrugging a little. Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to talk to you," he tilted his head to one side and Annabeth folded her hands neatly on the desk in front of her, urging him to continue. She met his eyes with curiosity.

"If you expect me to apologize to your brother, I will not," she laid her cards out flat in front of her, not bothering to play games, not with him, not with anyone else, not now, not for this.

"I wasn't going to ask you to," he was equally honest. "Though I must say, I can see why you incense people, my brother included, by insinuating that the Amazons are a big enough deal to be feared."

Oh. "They should be feared. If we were smart, we'd be more cautious." Annabeth paused. "If you're not here to glue his fragile self-esteem together, then why are you here?" Annabeth's forehead creased, puzzled.

Luke swiftly ignored the insult towards Percy, not really seeming to mind. "As you know, tomorrow morning we must leave for Thasite," he began cautiously. Annabeth frowned, marring her pretty face. It was customary for the royal brides to spend a few days at their betrothed's castle. Tomorrow morning Annabeth, Percy, Luke, and Drew were set to take a carriage to Thasite. There were faster modes of travel, of course, jets, transports, etc, but this was so that the people in the passing cities could see their royals. Annabeth didn't like being put out in this parade, but she had no choice. After all, Annabeth didn't feel so good about being around so much water in another land either, the land of her former enemies, but she was going anyways, following Athena's wishes. She'd been raised to hate House Calbourne, it was proving to be a difficult habit to break. Not only for her, but for Percy and Luke as well, she'd noticed.

"And?" she pressed.

"We're leaving at five in order to reach Thasite at an appropriate time. You've been instructed not to eat breakfast."

"Well, of course. Who eats breakfast at five in the morning?" Annabeth wondered out loud.

Luke stared at her. "Soldiers do, Princess."

 _Oh._ Annabeth's cheeks flushed in embarrassment. It was times like this that made her really hate herself, moments that made her remember the royal blood coursing through her veins, oblivious to the death and suffering of the pawns of their lands, fighting the battles of the rich royals.

"My apologies," she muttered.

"It's quite alright, Princess."

"You can call me Annabeth," she said. Annabeth wasn't sure what had caused her to say it, but there was no taking it back now. As much as she disliked Luke, she disliked the reminder of her status more.

"You can call me Luke," he smoothly replied. "Tomorrow, you're going to have to meet lots of people. Stick by my side, I'll help you," he offered. "They'll all turn on you otherwise."

His words were weirdly, brutally true. She was an enemy in their land, and though the royals had seemingly had a change of heart with this new alliance, the people of Thasite were old, older past their years, and they still remembered the blood shed and the rivalries. They still believed in the hatred and revelled in the pain of their enemies.

"Very well. Is that all?"

"For now, Annabeth." And with that strange conversation, he turned and walked away, leaving her to ponder over the young Prince. Perhaps he wasn't as bad as she'd initially thought.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth had yet to find Luke. Part of her wished she would never run into him, but this was his own ball, part his and part Percy's, celebrating the engagements of both the Princes. But part of her wished she would find him, and fast. After their conversation in the library, she found herself thinking that maybe he wasn't that bad. She still didn't like him, but she would be stupid not to take his help, no matter how prideful she was. For survival, she could swallow it. He'd promised not to leave her side at the ball, in the library, he'd told her to come find him and he'd shield her from the bloodthirsty Calbournes and their uncomfortable interrogations. Everyone's eyes were immediately drawn to her anywhere she went. Though she wore a little blue, blue to symbolize her tie to Luke, she was still dressed mainly in silver- the color of Ashington. Though not everyone here was a Calbourne, those who weren't were good friends with them, and she stood out like a traitor.

"Royals, ladies and gentlemen," someone tapped their glass of champagne delicately, calling attention to them. Annabeth looked up in the big crowd and spotted Queen Medusa. She smiled, her white teeth blinding her. "Thank you for coming this evening. This ball is to celebrate, as you are well aware, the engagements of both my sons, Luke Castellan of House Calbourne, Prince of Thasite and Perseus Jackson of House Calbourne, Crown Prince of Thasite." Scattered applause echoed through the crowd. Annabeth clapped also, ignoring the glances she got at the mention of the engagement. She had never felt more lonely here, without Malcolm, without Jason, without someone to give her peace of mind. Alone in a room full of strangers and cowards and enemies. And small, she felt so small.

"I would like to announce the beginning of this ball with the traditional first dance," Medusa smiled, a calculated smile Annabeth recognized from many royals all too well. Annabeth felt mildly sick. She was a decent dancer, she'd been raised a royal after all, but this was with _Luke_ , and even though most of the attention would be on Percy and Drew, she thought she was going to throw up. Because before she danced with Luke, she had to dance with _Percy._ Fucking tradition.

Sure enough, Percy walked to the center of the dancefloor, his expression impassive and noble, and he extended his hand for her. Annabeth swallowed hard, unable to spot Jason in the crowd (she was sure he was lurking in the corners with other guards), and stepped forward with hesitation. She pressed her hand into Percy's, immediately noticing his warmth. It was sort of overwhelming, his entire being. He smelled like sea air and of the ocean, and she couldn't quite read his expression. It was frustrating.

"Lady Annabeth," he greeted and Annabeth was mildly aware of everyone's eyes on them.

"Sir," she dipped her head, trying to appear kind. She could not slip up, she would not mess up. She felt his hand rest on her waist and the other take her hand in his. She had never been more grateful for the gloves on her hands in her entire life. To feel his skin pressed against hers, she would surely faint. He was weirdly… powerful, his entire presence. It made her feel dizzy and uncomfortable. She shrunk under his gaze. Percy was graceful, and that only made her hate him more. Of course he was a fucking fabulous dancer, what couldn't he do? She upheld her image, and allowed him to whisk her around, but only for some time.

Percy stepped carefully, his motions flowy like liquid, natural, carefree. He began to lead, but something stubborn inside of Annabeth refused to follow his lead. Tightening her hand on his, she changed the game. Annabeth pulled him to the left, and his eyes widened fractionally at the gesture. She stepped on his foot deliberately, driving her pointy heels into his toes, a muscle in her cheek twitching when he winced, an audible groan falling from his mouth. He pursed his lips in understanding, but his eyes lit up, excited by this new game. As they glided across the ballroom floor, the mere minutes seemed to drag out, the pair fighting for dominance as subtle as they could. It was a test, a battle of pride and respect. The blonde pulled him in a different direction and in retaliation, Percy tugged her forward. Annabeth's throat tightened, caught off guard by his bold move.

They were mere centimeters apart and his sea air, it was drowning her, overwhelming her senses. Before she could regain control, Percy spun her and she felt her heart leap into her mouth. _Fuck._ His eyes glittered in victory, claiming the win, much to Annabeth's dismay. He dipped her low and she wanted to scream at the smug look on his face. Instead she nearly stumbled and he steadied her, only smirking a bit more. He had won, that much was clear. Fuck him. Fuck this. Annabeth felt like a little kid, throwing a tantrum because she'd lost, but she smothered those feelings.

"Princess," Percy smiled at her once more, the song ending. But there was some underlying tone in his voice, a secret shared between only the both of them. "It was nice playing with you." Annabeth's lips parted in surprise. "But I play to win," he whispered for her ears only, low in his voice, much to her astonishment. Nobody else in the audience seemed to hear, much to her relief. Then he did as he was supposed to do, collecting Drew for the next dance, and giving Annabeth away to Luke.

Luke possessed the same grace as his brother, but where Percy's presence made her head spin, Luke felt normal, comfortable. It was a relief.

"How are you holding up?" he offered her a rare smile as they danced. Slowly, the crowd took the cue and began to dance as well. Though people definitely glanced at her a lot more than anybody else there.

"Okay," Annabeth breathed, letting him lead. Her little battle with Percy had put her off fighting for dominance and with Luke, she didn't feel like she had to. In a way, they both lead.

"That's because you haven't met everyone yet," Luke admitted.

Annabeth nodded absentmindedly.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there to introduce you to everyone," he promised. "Like I said earlier," he began, referring to their conversation in the library yesterday afternoon, "after I speak with a few people, come find me."

Annabeth nodded obediently as Luke let go, forced to mingle alongside Percy with their father, King Poseidon's, closest allies. Annabeth wasn't sure how much time had passed, but

Across the room, commotion burst around them. She was grateful for the momentarily break from the spotlight. Drew was furious and people were turning away from their conversations, glancing at her to see why exactly she was causing such a fuss. It seemed that some servant had spilled some drink on her. Annabeth's heart went out for the servant- they were sure to be punished later, most likely for doing nothing. Then she she spotted Percy. He was standing near the commotion and no matter how hard he tried to blend in, there was this _something_ about him. Annabeth couldn't quite put her finger on it, but despite his dark hair, he stood out even more than his brother, though Luke had bright, blond hair and lighter, baby blue eyes. There was something royal about him, something proud and charming, something _intriguing_. He didn't belong in this picture, this image of a royal ball. No, he belonged out on the wargrounds, leading an army into battle like the decorated general he was. She could see why he was such a good commander. That _something_ he had, people would follow him to their deaths for it. The thought of death was sobering.

Annabeth mildly wondered if Reyna or him would win in a battle. Reyna was strong, but so was Percy. For a moment, Annabeth wasn't sure who she would've put her money on. Probably General Reyna. Percy was strong, but he was royally-trained. He would never play dirty, and Reyna would use that to her full advantage. All of a sudden, Annabeth met Percy's gaze. Immediately, her mouth turned down, her dislike for him blatant as her previous thoughts drifted out of her grasp. He didn't seem to mind her hatred. Instead, he was watching the Drew's mini-meltdown with amusement. Of course he was. Not that Annabeth could exactly blame him; Drew was putting on quite the show, ever the demanding little thing.

 _Seriously?_ she mouthed at him. Her eyes narrowed at him from across the room, watching his lean frame duck out of the scene. He smirked. Annabeth made a silent vow, promising to smack that smug look off his face later. Harshly.

His mouth curved into a boyish grin and his eyes glimmered excitedly. He said nothing in return. _What a child,_ Annabeth thought to herself, rolling her eyes at his antics, but smiling nonetheless. Percy was a toddler, she had decided. A scary, powerful toddler. Percy watched with mild fascination as the staff scurried about, Lady Drew turning redder in the face by the moment. Annabeth only glanced away from a moment, but when she looked back, Percy had disappeared completely. She frowned in concentration, her hawk eyes scanning the crowd for him when-

"She resembles a parrot a little, don't you think?" his voice cut through her search, nearly scaring her half to death. And Annabeth wasn't the type to be easily startled.

"Christ, Percy!" she scolded and his face split into a wide grin. "Don't sneak up on people like that!" she chastised, whisper yelling. He held up his hands in surrender but made no attempt to even _pretend_ being remorseful. She smacked his arm in annoyance, but he just chuckled. Immediately she regretted it and waited for him to chastise her for touching him. She was not allowed to, especially not now that she was engaged to Prince Luke. But no reprimandation came.

"So, what do you think?" he asked.

Annabeth glanced at him in confusion.

"Parrot or no?" Percy reminded her in thinly veiled amusement.

She couldn't fight the smile on her face. Drew really _did_ sound like a parrot, fretting about her fine sangria purple silk gown, and that she was worth more than all the servants. Annabeth sympathized with the staff. What hell they must've faced on a daily basis in the presence of that walking she-demon.

"You shouldn't say stuff like that," she laughed quietly. She sounded like Jason when he talked to her, even to herself. He always criticized her big mouth, even though it provided plenty of entertainment for the both of them.

"And why not? I'm not lying," Percy reasoned. "Just listen to that wretched beast." Annabeth knew that Percy wasn't exactly… delicate with this sort of thing, but just wow. He was much different than he had been with all those royal children… or maybe he wasn't. Maybe that was his way of testing her. Maybe he wasn't that happy with his engagement either. He didn't seem to speak that well of Drew, to say the least. The thought had never occured to Annabeth. She'd always assumed she was the only one uncomfortable in this lifestyle, this path meticulously planned out for her by Athena, none of her own input welcome. It was an interesting theory that the other royal children shared her unhappiness. The curious blonde turned her attention back to the scene at hand.

Annabeth snorted in a very unladylike way. "Keep your voice down!" she breathed. The blonde peeked subtly around them, relieved there was nobody nearby. They were all too engrossed in the scene Drew was causing.

"Plus it's not just that lovely sound," he continued. "That beautiful face," he dramatized, clutching his heart with one hand. "It is crimson as the feathers of those graceful birds." He smirked. "So when Lady Drew asks me-" Percy then switched into a higher voice, one Annabeth assumed was supposed to mimic Drew.

" _-oh, Perseus, 'I pray thee now, tell me, for which of my bad parts did thou first fall in love with me?,'_ I will tell her: Lady Drew, I fell first in love with that face, the hue of thy terrible, truly horrid tomato soup."

Annabeth covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. Not only did he correctly quote Shakespeare, he insulted both Drew and her rotten cooking skills (that her father bragged about) in the process. It was a nice change.

"That's terrible!" she exclaimed, lost in a fit of giggles.

"Indeed," Percy replied, mournfully. "I'm sure she will poison us all."

"That's- that's not what I meant," Annabeth cracked up. Percy finally gave in, laughing alongside her. He glanced up to see that Drew's gown had been changed, her stained garment probably being hand washed at that very moment. Those poor servants. _Oh shit._ His blood ran cold when Drew's dark almond eyes landed on him.

"That's my cue," Percy muttered under his breath, pasting on a concerned expression and striding away from Annabeth. He seemed to visibly deflate and Annabeth's laughter that had begun to die down, ceased completely. She frowned to herself, unable to conceal her disappointment and pity as Percy strode away. He appeared so unhappy, not unlike herself. She tucked a stray golden curl behind her ear, turning and walking the other way, not particularly in search of anything. She would simply rather not watch Drew stand beside Perseus.

Annabeth wandered for a bit, not really sure who she was in search for at this point, before being stopped by some random gentleman.

"Forgive her Princess, but you look a little lost. Would you like to dance, Your Highness?" he offered. Annabeth knew she wasn't allowed to turn him down, that would be against social standards. Reluctantly accepting, she allowed the Duke of some foreign country to whisk her away.

He wasn't unpleasant, she supposed. He had a naturally brooding expression, much like Percy, but that was where the similarities ended. He was tall, yet not more than Percy, and even though she was a tall girl herself, she found herself craning her neck up to look at him. His eyes were glassy, a milky shade of blue, effortly blending in with his pale skin. His blond hair was so light that it could have been mistaken for a shade of white under the right light. Her first thought was that he looked like Luke, only washed out. Annabeth pursed her lips. She desperately tried to recall his name, his title, _something_ so that she would, as always, possess an intellectual advantage over this stranger. Just like always, her brain did not fail her.

"Congratulations on the engagement, Princess," said Octavian Geve of House Langen, Duke of Kreoca. Annabeth forced a smile, storing the image of him in the back of her mind. Kreoca was a big war country and House Langen was a weapon-lover's paradise. They were practically born of bloodshed.

"Thank you," she answered, as sweetly as she could. He smiled wide, so she could assume that he had bought it. As he placed his hand in hers and snaked his hand around her waist, she felt slightly uncomfortable. She'd never liked House Langen, those bloodthirsty beasts. Without meaning to, she silently compared his dancing to Percy's. He wasn't nearly as graceful or as poised, he wasn't as tall either, though that was more of a relief to Annabeth than anything else. She was beginning to wish for the song to end soon, because she wanted nothing more than to be out of his too-tight grasp. Unfortunately, it was socially unacceptable to shove him off her, so she suffered in silence, praying for something, _anything_.

"Excuse me, may I steal my _fiancée_ for now? The feast is about to begin."

Annabeth had never been more grateful for Luke's voice in her entire life. His blue eyes narrowed at Octavian's and for a moment, Annabeth wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he was sort of… intimidating like this, with a stony expression on his face. Instead, she kept her mouth shut, allowing him to pull her away. The worst of the ball was over. Dinner would not be so bad. She would be seated next to Luke, both brothers on either side of their father and Queen Medusa. She could just eat in peace and zone out, taking some solace that Luke seemed to _want_ to have her back. She wasn't sure she still trusted him, but she had decided that she didn't hate him as much as Percy. Progress.

* * *

**Annabeth**

She suffered through the feast, watching but not seeing, hearing but not listening. Even the food tasted plain in my mouth. Annabeth glanced at the grilled chicken on the table and couldn't help but compare it to herself. Grilled, burned by all these royals, all their interrogations, all their scrutinizing galres. She couldn't even speak when Luke murmured to her, his voice calm and level in assurance.

"You're doing fine," he said, but she tried to ignore him. Like his brother, he wore the same white and blue, the water controllers. It was a firm reminder of exactly who and what Luke was—powerful, dangerous, a Calbourne, a Prince.

Sitting at a table made of crystal, drinking bubbly gold liquid until her head spun, Annabeth felt like a traitor. What were her parents eating for dinner tonight? Did Malcolm feel as lonely as her? Was this how the rest of her life would be like? She was going to move here, to Thasite, after the marriage, after all.

The crowd toasted at the end of the feast, their glasses raised to the royal table. On they go, lords and ladies in a rainbow of color trying to wiggle their way into favor. Luke whispered their names to her in turn, even though she was beginning to doubt that she'd remember them tomorrow. At first it was annoying, but soon she found herself leaning in to hear the names.

Here she was, stuck in a room full of people who would kill her if they knew the truth about the Amazons. And the royals of course, who would kill her if they could, who probably will kill her one day. They had pulled her inside out, swapping Annabeth for Luke's wife, a Princess of Thasite, a crown for another crown, silver for white, orange for blue. That previous morning she was a free girl still, tonight she was Epresh's peace offer, an offer to heal a rift, a rivalry. How much more would change? What else would she lose?

"That's enough of that," Luke said, his voice swimming through the din of the feast. He pulled away Annabeth's fancy goblet, replacing it with a glass of water.

"I liked that drink." But she gulped down the water greedily, feeling her head clear.

Luke just shrugged. "You'll thank me later."

"Thank you," she snapped as snidely as possible. She hadn't forgotten her hatred for the Calbourne brothers nor Percy's rude comments at breakfast the day before, and Luke's reluctance to say anything. She hadn't forgotten the way he looked at her that evening he'd been forced to propose to her, like she was something on the bottom of his shoe. But now his gaze was softer, calmer, not as cold and more like Percy's.

"I'm sorry about earlier, Princess."

Her name was Annabeth, not Princess. "I'm sure you are," came out instead.

"Really," he said, leaning towards her. They were seated side by side, with the rest of the royals, at the high table. "It's just—usually younger princes get to choose. One of the few perks of not being the heir," he adds with a terribly forced smile.

Oh. "I didn't know that," she replied, not really knowing what to say. Malcolm was the only son, and Athena had always controlled her entire life, so she hadn't really experienced choice or known about it. She should have felt sorry for him, but she couldn't bring herself to feel any kind of pity for a Prince.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't. It's not your fault."

He looked back to the feasting hall, casting his gaze out like a fishing line. She wondered what face he was looking for. "Is she here?" Annabeth murmured, trying to sound apologetic. "The girl you would have chosen?" After all, she hadn't wanted this either, and she hadn't exactly been nice to him at first either.

He hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I didn't have anyone in mind. But it was nice to have the option of a choice, you know?"

No, she didn't know. She didn't have the luxury of choice. Not then, not now, not ever.

"Not like my brother. He grew up knowing he'd never have a say in his future. I guess now I'm getting a taste of what he feels."

"You and your brother have everything, Prince Luke," Annabeth whispered in a voice so fervent it might have been a prayer. "You live in a palace, you have strength, you have power. You wouldn't know hardship if it kicked you in the teeth, and believe me, it does that a lot. So excuse me if I don't feel sorry for either of you."

There she went, letting her mouth run away with her brain. As Annabeth recovered, drinking down the rest of the water in an attempt to cool her temper, Luke just stared at her, his eyes cold. But the wall of ice receded, melting as his gaze softened.

"You're right, Annabeth. No one should feel sorry for me." She could hear the bitterness in his voice. With a shiver, she watched him throw a glance at Percy. His older brother beamed like the sun, laughing with their father. When Luke turned back around, he forced another smile, but there was a surprising sadness in his eyes.

As much as she tried, Annabeth couldn't ignore the sudden jolt of pity she felt for the forgotten Prince. But it passed when she remembered who he was and who she was.

She was an Ashington girl in a sea of Calbournes and monarch-enthusiasts, and she couldn't afford to feel sorry for anyone, least of all the son of a snake.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"That went well," Medusa said, snatching her hand away from the King when they reached the residence floors. He didn't seem to mind in the least. "Take the girls to their rooms."

She didn't direct her command at anyone in particular, but four guards broke off from the group. Annabeth glanced at Jason, careful not to make eye contact. For once, she was ecstatic that her mother didn't trust House Calbourne. Athena had allowed her to bring her personal guard, and Jason was all the comfort she needed.

"I can do it," Percy and Luke said in unison. They glanced at each other, startled. Annabeth hid a frown. But, but Jason...

Medusa raised one perfect eyebrow. "That would be inappropriate."

"I'll escort Annabeth, Lukey can take Drew," Percy offered quickly, and Luke pursed his lips at the nickname. Lukey. Probably what Percy called him as a boy and now it had stuck, the emblem of a younger brother, always in shadow, always second.

The King shrugged. "Let them, Medusa. The girls need a good night of sleep, and guards would give any lady bad dreams." He chuckled, tossing a playful nod at the guards. They didn't respond, silent as stone. Annabeth didn't know if they were allowed to talk at all.

After a moment of tense silence, the Queen turned on her heel. "Very well." Like any wife, she hated her husband for challenging her, and like any Queen, she hated the power the King held over her. A bad combination.

"To bed," the King said, his voice a bit more forceful and authoritative. The guards stayed with him, following when he went the opposite way from his wife. Annabeth guessed they didn't sleep in the same room, but that was not much of a shock.

"My room was where, exactly?" Drew asked, glaring at Luke. The blushing queen-to-be was gone, replaced by the sharp she-devil Annabeth recognized.

He gulped at the sight of her. "Uh, this way, miss—ma'am—my Lady." He held out an arm to her, but she breezed right by him. "Good night, Percy, Annabeth," Luke sighed, making a point of looking at the blonde.

She could only nod at the retreating Prince. Her betrothed. The thought made her want to be sick. Even though he seemed polite, nice even, he was a true monarch, in love with royalty. And he was Medusa's son, which might have been even worse. His smiles and kind words could not hide that from her. Percy was just as bad, raised to rule, to perpetuate this world of division even further.

He watched Drew disappear, his eyes lingering on her retreating form in a way that made Annabeth strangely annoyed.

"You picked a real winner," she muttered once Drew was out of earshot. She glanced at Jason one last time, but he shook his head no. Trying desperately to calm her nerves, Annabeth folded her hands in front of her and dug her nails into the skin deep. Only the stupid gloves were in the way. Jason would guard her room later, but for now, it was just her and the Crown Prince.

Percy's smile died with a downward twitch, and he started walking towards Annabeth's room, ascending the sloping spiral, the white marble carved with little waves. Her long legs- trained to take small steps like a Lady- fought to keep up with his long strides, but he didn't seem to notice, lost in thought.

Finally he turned, his eyes like the roaring ocean. "I didn't pick anything. Everyone knows that."

"At least you knew this was coming."

Percy winced at her words, but she didn't care. She couldn't handle his self-pity. "And, you know, there's the 'you're going to be king' thing. That must be a boost."

He chuckled to himself, but he was not laughing. His eyes darkened, and he took a step forward, surveying her from head to toe. Instead of looking judgmental, he seemed sad. Deeply sad in the blue-green pools of his eyes, a little boy lost, looking for someone to save him.

"You're a lot like Luke," he said after a long moment that made Annabeth's heart race.

"You mean engaged to a stranger? We do have that in common."

"You're both very smart." She couldn't help but snort. Percy obviously didn't know how long she spent in that damned library, but she had a feeling that wasn't what he was referring to. "You know people, you understand them, you see through them."

"I did a great job of that last night. I definitely knew you were the Crown Prince the whole time." She still couldn't believe it was only last night she had met him at that ball. What a difference a day made. She hadn't known his true identity, not until he'd revealed himself. How stupid could she get, really?

"You knew I didn't belong."

His sadness was contagious, sending an ache over her. "So we've switched places." Annabeth didn't belong in this palace, with these people, leaving yet another ball.

Suddenly the palace didn't seem so beautiful or so magnificent. The architecture she had initially appreciated (albeit reluctantly, because honestly, what else could you expect from a prideful Lady of House Ashington in a House Calbourne castle?). The hard marble and stone was too severe, too bright, too unnatural, trapping her in. All of a sudden, Annabeth felt like she was choking, choked by all this going on with her, the pressure of being a royal in the spotlight, her parents' expectations for her to end a rebellion, a rebellion she was _part of_ , and just-

"Are you okay?"

Percy stared down at her, confused.

"Sorry," she mumbled, shaking my head. "Just thinking."

He nodded, looking almost apologetic. "About your family?"

The words hit her like a slap. Malcolm hadn't even crossed her mind in the last few hours, and it sickened her. He must've been so angry with her for speaking out of turn there during breakfast, and then she had not seen him off before going to the ball for the royal Calbourne brothers. He was still back in Epresh and she had not apologized. Guilt swarmed around her.

"No," was all Annabeth said. Percy said nothing, recognizing her shift in mood.

"This is you," he gestured to the door in front of both of them. Annabeth stared at it blankly. It was white with blue swirls scurrying up it. It was unfamiliar, proudly displaying Calbourne's love for water.

"Only tomorrow, right?" She didn't know why she was asking him, especially not when she already knew the answer. She needn't another reason for him to think of her as a ditsy blonde, though after he'd compared her to his brother, she hardly believed that anymore either.

"Tomorrow evening, we return to Epresh," he confirmed, momentarily soothing her ache for home, for Malcolm. This was tradition, she knew. Bianca would be at Epresh right now, alongside Malcolm, meeting all of House Ashington just as she would meet House Calbourne tomorrow. It was tradition for the royal brides to spend some time at the other House's palace, but this was overwhelming. House Ashington already had an excellent bond with the Pevanshires, and Bianca was sweet by nature, and perfect, perfect like Malcolm, and Annabeth felt an unfamiliar envy towards the older girl. Tomorrow would be a big day, a nerve-wrecking, hair-pulling day. Annabeth mildly wondered if the rest of House Calbourne was more like Percy and Poseidon, or like Luke, or maybe even Medusa. Were they all that unpleasant truly, or was that just Athena's hatred and years of teachings blinding her? Was this forming into some irrational fear of the ocean? Oh, god, oh fuck, no...

"Okay," Annabeth exhaled sharply. "Okay," she repeated and it seemed like she was trying to assure herself rather than Percy. Without another word, she stepped into her room, leaving Percy to return to his own sleeping chambers.

She tried, she really did, but with the nearby sea roaring in her ears, she barely got a wink of sleep.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Halfway to tea, Annabeth began to feel calm again. She addressed everyone properly and only spoke as much as she had to at lunch, as instructed. Drew talked enough for both of them, regaling the women with her "undying love" for Percy and the honor she felt at being chosen. She thought the girls would band together and kill her, but they didn't, to her annoyance. Only a few distant Calbourne relatives and close allies seemed to even care that she was there, though they didn't push their interrogation any further. But they certainly would.

When Luke appeared around the corner, she was so proud of her survival at lunch that she was not even annoyed by his presence. In fact, she felt strangely relieved and let a bit of her cold act drop. He grinned, coming closer with a few long strides.

"Still alive?" he asked. Compared questioning guests at the ladies' lunch, he was like a friendly puppy.

She couldn't help but smile. "You should send your grandmother back to the Canadians. She'll make them surrender in a week."

He forced a hollow laugh. "She's a battle-ax that one. Can't seem to understand she's not living in the war times any longer. Did she question you at all?"

"More like interrogate. I think she's angry I'm from House Ashington. Old fashioned and all that."

Anger flickered in his eyes, and she couldn't say she understood it. Luke hardly knew her at all. "She shouldn't bother you like that," he muttered. "I'll let my mother know, and she'll take care of it."

As much as she didn't want his help, she didn't see any other way around it. A woman like his grandmother could easily find the cracks in her story, discover the Amazon tie, and then she'd be truly finished. "Thanks, that would—that would be very helpful."

Luke's dress uniform was gone, replaced by casual clothes built for form and function. It calmed her a little, to see at least someone looking so informal. But she couldn't anything about him soothe her. He was one of them. One of Calbourne, one of the royal monarch. She couldn't forget that.

"Are you done for the day?" he said, his face clearing to reveal an eager smile. "I could show you around if you want."

"No." The word came out quickly, and his smile faded. His frown unsettled her as much as his smile. "I have Lessons next," Annabeth added, hoping to soften the blow. Why she cared about his feelings, she didn't exactly know. "Your mother loves her schedules."

He nodded, looking a little better. "She does indeed. Well, I won't keep you."

He took Annabeth's hand gently. The cold she felt on his skin before was gone, replaced with a delightful heat. Before she got a chance to pull away, he left her standing there alone.

Jason gave her a moment to collect herself before noting, "You know, we'd get there much faster if you actually moved."

"Shut up, Jason."


	7. The King Can Go Fuck Himself

**Annabeth**

A mere passerby could have mistaken the man and the blonde to be strangers. She paid no attention to him, but his eyes were glued to her figure, standing boldly in front of the royal men. Standing in the middle of the royal court, Annabeth's temper only rose. Percy was off to the side somewhere, among the men in the stands, and yet, she, a _Princess_ of this very land, Epresh, was not allowed up there, not even like the Calbourne enemy. Ridiculous.

"So this is all based off a _feeling_?" King Frederick inquired, and some of his royal court chuckled, not even bothering to hide their amusement. "You _feel_ that Canada is powerful? The pathetic democracy?" Her cheeks burned pink. They were laughing at her, the fuckers. Fuck them.

Annabeth narrowed her eyes at the dark blonde man, pursing her lips delicately. Her eyebrows pinched down and Percy just knew she was about to say something they would all regret.

"Actually," she began indignantly, clearly offended, "I never said that. I'll have you know that-"

"-please excuse the Princess," Percy interrupted, his voice immediately commanding the room. Even Annabeth's own father, who was clearly enraged by his daughter's bold words, reconciled his horror to Percy's outburst. Annabeth whipped her head around to look at Perseus; her expression was confused at first, but quickly replaced with a murderous glare. _He wouldn't dare._

"She received a nasty blow to the head this morning," he continued. "This seems to have made her delusional." Percy met her challenging glare with a stern gaze. " _Clearly_ ," he emphasized. Annabeth silently seethed to herself.

"She's overstepped her bounds and I would like to apologize on her behalf."

_On her behalf?! The bastard!_

"Thankfully the clumsy accident did not mar her flawless skin and radiant face, my Lord" Percy hastily covered up his lie when he saw the councilmen glance over her face apprehensively. The King of Epresh, seated at the center, seemed satisfied with Percy's response and nodded to himself once. Annabeth felt betrayed by her father; they had never been particularly close, but how could he accept her soon to be brother-in-law's statement over her own?

"Very well," the King began, understandingly. No longer did he seem like banishing his daughter from the kingdom, much to Percy's relief. At his approval, other members of the grand council relaxed and stared down at Percy expectantly. "She is excused this time, and please, have a servant fetch her some ice to medicate her injuries. We wouldn't want another scene, now would we?"

"No, my Lord," Percy acquiesced pleasantly. "In fact, I will be more than delighted to accompany her back to Jason, just to make sure she does not run into any more trouble," he assured the King, ignoring the dirty look on Annabeth's face.

"That would be very much appreciated. Thank you," he nodded, dismissing the both of them. Percy grabbed Annabeth by the arm, albeit harshly, and led her out of the hall. She did not offer much resistance, but he was not fooled. Surely, she would unleash her wrath on him once they escaped the scrutinizing gaze of the council.

* * *

**Malcolm**

Malcolm tugged at his hair in frustration. Annabeth had been a handful ever since they were kids, and though even as a child, she'd been a stubborn little thing, she'd had more sense back then.

Or maybe she was just growing up and he couldn't handle it. But she didn't listen as much anymore and she just ran around saying shit that could get her killed, could get her disowned, could make some big enemies. And Annabeth was strong, she was their mother's daughter after all, but some of these enemies could be stronger. And she'd never know until it was too late. This was _his_ job. It always had been. It was his duty to protect her from the world, but when she ran around causing trouble, acting recklessly, he felt powerless. Strange. Malcolm would have never described himself as powerless in the past, but now he could recognize that this what it was. He was busy preparing for his coronation, for his wedding, for his time as a ruler, how could he spend his time babysitting his little sister, the girl who insisted on acting the same way as she had since she was ten?

"I can't believe she said that," Malcolm groaned, perching on the edge of his bed. He buried his face into his hands, clearly torn.

"I don't think it was that bad," Bianca consoled him, sitting down next to him. She offered a sweet smile.

"You're just saying that to be nice."

She hid a smile. "Maybe," she admitted. Malcolm pushed his floppy, blond hair out of his steel eyes. "Oh, don't beat yourself up too much. She's a little… _unorthodox_ for a Princess and she's rather stubborn, but she has a good heart," Bianca tried to make it better.

"I know she does," Malcolm sighed. "But that's not the issue."

"Then what is?" Bianca inquired, tilting her head adorably at him.

"You- you know," he gestured vaguely.

"A King has to use his words," Bianca's eyes glimmered with mirth.

Malcolm sighed. "She's out of control. Athena's going to kill her," he shook his head. "There's so many eyes on her, you know?" Bianca was patient as he spoke. "She doesn't see it, but everyone's looking at her. Maybe more than any of us. She's House Ashington in House Calbourne territory. You know we've never gotten along well. And though she's not going to be Queen, she's marrying into a big territory. What with the Amazons changing people's minds, this rebellion on the brink of starting wars, she needs to show no sign of disagreeing with the monarchy. We need to display a proud, united front. If we're divided within ourselves, they'll tear us apart."

Bianca was quiet for a moment. "So you _are_ worried that the Canadians and the Amazons will destroy us?" she said, but it was phrased like it was a statement, like she already knew the answer. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Of course! They're strong, stronger than my father is willing to admit, stronger than any of our parents will acknowledge, and if we're not careful, they'll wipe us out clean!"

"So why didn't you say that?"

"Excuse me?" Malcolm was at a lack for words.

"At the breakfast," Bianca clarified. "That's exactly what Princess Annabeth stated. That nobody should underestimate the Amazons and the Canadians, that they were stronger than anyone had bargained for. And yet, Crown Prince Perseus only further incensed her, and you said nothing. How can you be a good ruler if you're not willing to speak up when someone else is correct?"

Malcolm's lips parted in surprise.

She smiled at him, knowingly. "So you agree, right? Annabeth was right?"

He nodded, slowly, almost as if ashamed.

"So why didn't you say anything?"

He was silent, having no words.

"Is it because she's a girl?"

It felt like she had slapped him. Bianca pursed her lips, folding her arms across her chest. "Of course not," he choked out. Annabeth had trained him well, teaching him to respect everyone despite what their parents tried to engrave in his mind. When he was eight and she was six, he'd underestimated her. He remembered it vividly, now one of his fondest memories of her. Needless to say, she'd kicked his ass, and he'd spent the rest of the day in the infirmary getting treatment for his endless scrapes and bruises.

"So why didn't you say anything?"

"I- I don't know," he admitted.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Annabeth wouldn't act out so much if people took her seriously? She's clearly intelligent, smart beyond her years, but no one will acknowledge her efforts. I would be angry, too. Angry at the world."

"I guess," Malcolm conceded. It must have been frustrating to constantly censor her words and filter her thoughts, to not say what she wanted to, to be overlooked all the time, Malcolm realized with a start. "But," he began, "Percy is a big military general, like me. We've trained our whole life, we've been preparing for this since we were born, Bianca," he looked her in the eye. Her gaze were gentle and he found comfort in her chocolate brown eyes. They were kind, something he wasn't used to in a life of cruel, ruthless royals. "I can't just go against him to defend my sister. He was right when he said that we're going to do our best to fight them. And though he does seem to underestimate them a bit, he's a skilled swordsman, an excellent marksman, and despite House Ashington being the House for intelligence and strategy, his military strategy is nothing like I've ever seen. If he says we're going to win, we will, I have no doubt."

"Maybe," Bianca shrugged. "But whether he's a good strategist or even correct is irrelevant."

"How?" Malcolm frowned. "That's why I had to take his side."

"No, it's irrelevant because you agreed with her first sentiment and even if you agreed with Percy's later words, you should have stood up for her when you knew she was right."

Malcolm hung his head in shame. "I suppose you're right."

"But?" Bianca pressed. Malcolm offered a weak smile. "There's always a 'but' with you," she teased and he shook his head, smiling to himself in a shy sort of way.

"But despite my mistakes, that doesn't eradicate the issue that Annabeth's wish to be heard is the sole cause of all these issues with her. Even if she believes that the Amazons are strong and that we should beware of them, and even if I agree with her- which I should have said," he glanced up at Bianca who nodded, pleased, "she can't say it out loud. She can't voice her opinions like this, especially not one involving the Amazons. If she doesn't keep her mouth shut, people are going to suspect her of being a traitor. She talks like she's one of _them_ , Bianca."

"I know." The fair young woman looked crestfallen. "I don't want her to be accused of anything either. But she's old enough now to know what the consequences of her actions are," said Bianca wisely.

"So you're just saying we should let her die for her words?" Malcolm was appalled, alarmed.

"No!" Bianca quickly cut in. "I'm saying you've warned her all you can. You have to focus on your own duties now. She'll change her mind, and soon. Like you said, like Percy said, like _she_ said herself, Canada practically declared war against us by allying themselves with the Amazons. When push comes to shove and we're in the midst of a war, Annabeth will realize who her true allies are, and her enemies. She'll realize the weight of her words and how to speak without sounding like she's supporting a terrorist group. She doesn't mean it, she's just young, Malcolm. She's two years younger than us, and you can't forget it, because it explains a lot, it shows."

He nodded obediently. "Maybe you're right."

"It'll all work out in the end, I promise. You'll see," she vowed, patting his shoulder comfortingly.

"Thanks, Bianca." He offered another shy smile.

She blushed pink in her cheeks, smiling in return. "Anytime, Your Highness," she winked, standing up. "Now. I have tea with your mother."

"I won't keep you," Malcolm stood up as well. She took his hands in hers and squeezed tightly. Malcolm kissed the back of her hand, unable to help himself from lingering a little too long. He couldn't help it; she was entrancing.

"I'll see you at dinner," Bianca promised and he nodded in agreement. "Until later," she bid him goodbye, brushing her lips across his cheek- effectively catching him off guard- before slipping out his door. She wasn't supposed to do things like that, she wasn't even supposed to be in his room, but it seemed that his little sister wasn't the only one bending a couple rules.

He grinned to himself, going the other direction. The royal council would be extremely angry if he was late to the next meeting. Striding into the grand council room, he concealed a tiny smile, his cheek still tingling from where she'd kissed him.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Percy wordlessly brought her to a nearby, unoccupied guest room. As soon as he'd shut the door, he was met face to face with two blazing, steel orbs. She whirled on him and slapped him _hard_ across the face. His face stung, his cheek pink from the force. He didn't say much, accepting the blow as punishment for hauling her away from the council. He owed her that much, at least.

"You are the most infuriating son of a bitch I've ever met," she snapped; her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes were bright and angry. Annabeth jerked her other arm away from him, escaping the iron grip he'd dragged her in here with. She felt humiliated by him, him and the rest of the council. And to think, she'd thought he was different. Well, until he'd opened his mouth, but she had thought that after he'd made fun of Drew that maybe it was just a cover, that maybe he really did understand. She felt naive and played.

Percy sharply sucked in a breath, his jaw clenched and his muscles tense. A shadow passed over his face and Annabeth felt she should have been afraid but strangely, his own fury only brought out her inner lioness. She bared her teeth, her feet planted firmly on the ground in front of him.

Percy's mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. He was not one to shout, instead the quiet kind of angry. Somehow, that was even scarier.

Annabeth was reminded of an old conversation between them:

_"And your mother?" Annabeth sneered, her hatred for the cunning Queen displayed proudly over her heart like a burning tattoo._

_"She's not my mother," he snapped, his voice cold. Annabeth's cruelty died in her throat at the look on his face. "She's Luke's." Annabeth opened her mouth, to apologize, to ask, she didn't quite know what._

_"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Percy said before she could say anything, glaring harshly at the floor._

And that look, it was the exact same as it was now. Except now, it was directed at her, not the stone floors.

"That's _enough_ ," he met her glare with an impassive expression, one Annabeth knew simply masked his temper. His voice was cold, sending involuntarily shivers down her spine and his gaze was frosty, diminishing the flame in hers. Annabeth clasped the chains attached to the stone wall behind her, damn near ready to wrench it out of the wall and smash his stupidly handsome face in with it. It left a white indent in the palm of her hand; she was squeezing it so tight.

The blonde could practically feel the tension between them. At his demand for her to stop, her emotions only flared up, causing her to retaliate, against her better common sense.

"You had no right, _no right!_ " she spat. "I had it handled!"

"About to be chewed up and spit out by the entire council, _sure_ , you had it handled," Percy dryly remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "For someone notorious for their intelligence, you can be so, so _stupid_ sometimes," he growled in frustration, carding his fingers through his dark hair- a bad habit she found him indulging in only when he was anxious.

"So you agree with them then?" she accused bitterly, her words biting deeper into his skin than she'd intended.

"Of course I don't agree!" he argued hotly, pressing her back into the wall without thinking too much of it. He approached her like a predator stalking their prey. "But you needn't make the situation worse for yourself!" his words were icy in the pit of her stomach. Annabeth felt like from the first night she'd met him at that wretched ball, all their bickering, their subtle competitions, it was all leading up to this. Her stomach knotted, turning over and over. The tension was so tight, she could practically feel it. She felt like an errant child, scolded. She hated it.

"You didn't even have to stand up for me. All you had to do was stand there and keep your mouth shut!" Annabeth screamed, aware she was causing a ruckus, but unable to contain herself. She kicked her satin sangria surcoat up childishly.

"You would have been thrown out of the room! You never understand your limits, Annabeth, never!" No Princess, no formal title. Just Annabeth. "You are childish and seeing as you care so much about your status, one would think you would demonstrate more care with your reputation," his words cut deep. She staggered back a few steps. "Heaven forbid my father revoked your betrothal to my brother and war would break out across the lands. Your father, angry at you for not biting your tongue and at my father for causing a rift in the power between all the three kingdoms. My father, angry at me for not intervening sooner and at your father for not raising a docile, polite young lady," he chastised sharply.

Annabeth knew Percy was right; she could have started the next, bloodiest war of all history, claiming many innocent lives. She had selfishly only been thinking about herself. Still, she flared up at the last few comments.

" _A dolice, polite young lady_?" she repeated, a fire igniting in her soul. "So that's what you believe I should become?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "That isn't you and I quite like you the way you are. You're witty, intelligent, absolutely stunning, stubborn, and strong, but they would castrate you for showing your stripes," Percy admitted, his tone still hard, but his words intimate. The anger in Annabeth dissipated immediately. She was caught off guard by his honest statement, clinging onto the first part of his sentence, the most important part, the best slice in the pie. _I quite like you the way you are._ Her lips parted slightly. _Witty… intelligent… stunning…_ It was hard for her comprehend the words coming out of _his_ mouth. He was supposed to be rude and easy to hate. How dare he make her question her judgement of him like that!

"I'm going to die spending my life married to a boring, snobby, polite _bitch_ , but still I say nothing. You think I would've chosen her to be my queen if given a choice?" Percy raked his hand once more through his hair, clearly worked up, his tone still infuriated. Annabeth watched him in awe and silence. _He wasn't happy with his betrothal. He doesn't like her. He wouldn't have chosen her._ This was a new revelation to Annabeth. Though Percy occasionally made fun of Drew, she'd never figured that Drew sucked up all his energy like this. "I'm not going to pretend to like our situations any more than you, but I would like to prevent a cross-country battle if I can. We were born into this lifestyle, and it's not always pretty, but you are just going to have to sit and deal," he finished, running out of steam. Finally, he looked up to meet a very stunned Annabeth Chase.

All feelings of betrayal were forgotten. Percy shifted his weight to his other foot, clearly uncomfortable by her silence. She suspected he was the only person in the entire kingdom who preferred her screaming. Maybe her screaming was better than some damsel's weeping. The thought would have been amusing if she wasn't still caught on his first words.

"You think I'm… _stunning_?" she said it before she was thinking and immediately her eyes widened with embarrassment and regret. She'd even choked over the choice of words he'd used to describe her timeless beauty. _Shit. Fucking hell._ All sorts of suitors had raved of her beauty, but somehow it was different when he did. Maybe because he was a shit liar and his cards were always spread out for all to see.

"I think even 'stunning' falls short when describing you, my Lady," said Percy after a moment of silence and he didn't quite meet her eyes this time.

Annabeth really wished she could quit gaping at him, but she couldn't find it in her to tear her eyes away from him. She blatantly ignored the butterflies- no- the _eagles_ soaring inside of her.

"Who would you have chosen to rule with you?" Again with the intrusive, regretful questions. Annabeth couldn't seem to stop herself; her hand was trembling slightly.

Percy swallowed noisily. "Someone with a fire inside of them, someone strong, someone with a mind of their own, someone to be my _partner_ , my _equal_ ," he whispered, still staring at the stone floor, his voice taking on a softer feel.

Could he seriously surprise her with any more depth, more passion, more beauty? _Shit, shit, shit._ And the way he'd said her name, just her name… it unraveled something in her. She had been wrong about him in so many ways, and him her, in many more ways. Maybe it was because he would be leaving for war soon, commanding an entire army against the Canadians and the Amazons, raising hell as he'd been born to do. Maybe it was because he would be leaving and they both knew it, even though not one soul had dared say it out loud, not yet, not even the royal council, and he was leaving maybe to die. These last few weeks, they could very well be the last few of his life and they could be the last she laid eyes on him. And even if he survived the war that was sure to come, inevitable, he would be gone, out of her eyes, and out of touch, sitting on a cold throne, his heart hidden and his soul just as cold. Alone. And she would sit by Luke's side, listening to old men argue about arbitrary subjects, issues that would never change. Or maybe she would die in the war, because like hell she was going to sit around twiddling her thumbs. She would fight for the Amazons, maybe she would even be forced to fight _him._ Annabeth let her eyes flutter shut, if only for a moment, an image of stabbing him in the heart with a sword flickering on a painful loop in her mind. She would have to kill him when the time came if the Amazons told her to. It was her duty.

Maybe it was just a moment of weakness, or maybe she was unfortunately falling just as hard as he was, but she reached out, tilting his chin up to look at her with her index finger and then cupped his jaw. Her breath hitched and he stilled, his eyes trained on her very, very carefully. She waited for him to make the next move. He alone would determine their entire fate, he alone would decide what came next.

If only he had the strength to walk away, perhaps they would be better off. She really, _really_ hoped he wouldn't. When he didn't say anything, not even moving, she instantly questioned her decision to get this close to him, putting them in close, _too_ close, proximity. Anxiously, she bit her lip, not anticipating how it would affect him. His face darkened, his sea green eyes swirling like a hurricane and darkening with desire.

"Oh hell," he muttered but before she could even ask, he closed the gap between them.

She tugged Percy closer, her tentative hands tangling in his hair, pulling him until she was sandwiched tightly between him and the cool wall. Inside the pit of her stomach, she felt the once rising tension splitting at the seams, fluttering and unraveling. Percy moved his right hand to cup the back of her head, protecting it with his knuckles while he groaned loudly against her mouth, causing her heart to stutter.

Annabeth would remember that sound and the way it vibrated against her lips, echoing into her mouth, for the rest of her life. She felt her blood coursing through her veins, hot and thick, as her skin bloomed under his touch. She had never wanted anything more than to feel his arms around her and his lips on hers. His fingers traveled to her back and ghosted across the surface of her skin and she moved up to cup his face.

"I…" Percy trailed off, murmuring against her mouth. "We can't," he gasped, pulling away only for a second, before she dragged his mouth back over hers. She felt a tremor run through him.

"How could this be wrong?" she whispered back, eyes clouded and desperate. Annabeth felt a stab of guilt envelop her, but buried it quickly and as best she could. She couldn't marry Luke, she just couldn't, she couldn't be some trophy wife; Perseus could never be with Drew, he'd admitted it himself. She wanted to be with him, and him her more than anything else in the entire world. He was a good distraction, he had a smart mouth. He set her body on fire, igniting a flame in her and she felt indestructible. She just hoped that flame wouldn't spread and consume them both. Percy kissed her again, leaving her breathless and her head grew light, a wave of euphoria washing over them both.

They were playing with fire, they both knew. And sooner or later, they were bound to be burned.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Annabeth?"

Annabeth glanced up to see Luke catching up to her side. She frowned at him; excuse her for preferring her own company.

"Luke," she barely acknowledged him, folding her hands in front of her neatly and not slowing down.

"Where's the fire?" he teased, and at that, she allowed a tiny smile at him.

"At the capital, apparently." It was a dark joke: the Amazons had bombed Epresh's capital, sending all their archives into ash and flames.

Luke blinked, looking awkward.

"Relax," she shrugged, looking up at him with mirth. "I'm just messing with you."

He allowed a small smile in return. "I thought you'd be more upset about the capital."

"Me too," she lied. Of course she wasn't. She was an Amazon and though she hadn't known they were going to do that (Amazons operated only on need-to-know basis), she supported it. Now, seeing Luke, her earlier guilt caught up with her once more. _Percy, Percy, Percy…_ How could she have kissed him? Percy would be Drew's in a month's time and she got Luke. That was just the way it was and she needed to come to terms with this rather than convincing herself of some delusional dream. It was a big pill to swallow, but Annabeth was a big girl now. She could handle it. She forced herself to push to green-eyed Prince, his kiss, his touch, all of it out of her mind.

"But seriously," Luke began. "I thought you would be done with all of today's activities by now."

"I am," Annabeth was curt. At his look, she allowed a few more details. "I'm going into town."

Luke could not disguise his surprise. "Where's Jason?" he glanced around.

" _Alone_ ," she clarified, pointedly.

"That's dangerous, you know," Luke pointed out. "The government isn't exactly on good terms with the people right now…" he was referring to the Amazons.

"I suppose. But I'm not about to sit in my tower, locked up and _safe_ , if that's what you're suggesting."

"Hardly." He traded a smile with her and Annabeth felt her heart beat a little faster in her chest. _Fuck Percy. He was so against the Amazons, against change, and so she was against him. Enemies until the very end._

"Would you like to join me?" Annabeth asked on impulse. She grinned a little, excited to show him her world. Luke seemed to want change and for a moment, Annabeth couldn't help but think that Luke would make a better ruler than Percy. But then she remembered that she wanted no ruler, that it was time for a democracy, and that's why she liked Luke in the first place.

Luke didn't hesitate. "Sure."

Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she took his hand in hers and pulled him after her. "You're going to need plainer clothes first," she did a once-over of his outfit. He was dressed in royal attire, of course, he'd just come from another council meeting. Like Percy, he was allowed in, even when she wasn't. "My room, c'mon," she felt like a little kid, but she strung him behind her, leading him up to her sleeping chambers. He seemed amused, but allowed her to lead him back to her room. Once inside, she was careful to keep him away from her closet, not wanting him to see her gold jewelry. That would only raise questions.

"Here," she tossed him an extra grey, cotton cape- one similar to the one she was decked in. It would mute his colors nicely. "Now let's go." She opened her window easily. She hadn't ever shared this secret with anyone besides Jason, but there was something different about Luke. He, too, wanted to see this world change, and Annabeth was ready for the world to burn first. She could show him around town, introduce him to the common life of Epresh- a life she longed for so desperately.

"Out the window?" He seemed alarmed. At his expression, she laughed- a genuine, bubbly laugh. The corner of his mouth turned up at her amusement. "Do you do this often?"

Annabeth just winked and scaled out her window, her lithe body shimmying down the tall tree elegantly. Once on the ground, she peered up at her window and saw his blond hair, bright under the sun. "Hurry up!" she whisper-yelled, beaming up at him.

He descended the same tree, albeit slower, since he was not as sure of his footing as Annabeth was (she had done this too many times). "Are we walking?" he inquired.

"Of course. Commoners rarely have modes of transportation, only the handful of wealthy. We can't stand out, we've got to blend in," Annabeth explained, sneaking beside him out to the castle walls. They couldn't just walk out the drawbridge, they'd have to go underground. "Besides, I like walking." She glanced at him and was surprised to see his eyes on hers, attentive and curious. She smiled a little to herself, pleased.

Together, they plunged into the dark underground cellars, in search of the sunlight, in search of the humble, commoner life. In search of adventure.

…

The bustle of the market warmed Annabeth's heart. The sun was shining brightly, and she snuck about carefully, blending in flawlessly. Shopkeepers argued with customers, children ran around in dirty clothes, mud splattered everywhere, women inspected fresh produce.

"You're good at this," Luke noted, following her lead. He caught on quickly, and he too ducked his head perfectly, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him. Annabeth flushed under his praise. She prayed he'd think it was because of the scorching heat.

 _Thank you._ "I know," she said instead, and he grinned- all charming, as per usual. Unfortunately, it only made her blush more. "Look at all this," she gestured to the big town, her pride obvious. "They've done so much, gotten so smart without our help." They both watched as a young boy used a makeshift pulley system to transport goods across the main market.

"I suppose," Luke surveyed their surroundings. "This is… surreal," he chose his words carefully.

"But this isn't where I wanted to go. I wanted to show you what it's like here, why I want change _so_ badly. Where we're going, you're going to have to be very careful," Annabeth warned, her tone unsteady and unsure.

Luke's forehead crinkled in confusion. "Where are we going?" Annabeth glanced around, making sure to keep her voice down.

"The black market."

…

The black market was dark and the sun didn't even touch the area. Large men with big knives shuffled past Annabeth and the blonde scooted over to make room. She wasn't here to pick a fight. Years of practice on her, Annabeth had become smooth, slick, and smart, like the best thieves of Epresh. Her motions were like liquid, graceful and calculated. She watched her back, creeped around, and didn't make a sound. Here, she was like another person entirely.

Luke was careful to be quiet, following her lead, and Annabeth remembered what Percy had said. _You're both very smart._ _You know people, you understand them, you see through them._ She sucked in a sharp breath. Percy was in the past, alongside his dated thinking. This was the present day, and she was alive here, her heart beating loudly in her chest, her senses alert, and her skin on fire. They passed a starving child, his eyes too big for his face. Annabeth swallowed and looked the other direction. Across from them, a woman decked in fake jewels with long, black fingernails was convincing this young girl to buy a green-eyed pendant. It was easier not to look, Annabeth knew, but she didn't want to be like every other royal.

Beside them, a man ran into another, bigger, beefier dude. Annabeth winced: she knew what was coming. She said nothing as the little guy slipped a wallet out of the other man's jacket pocket without anyone noticing. But she noticed. She always did. For the smaller guy's sake, she wished he'd keep his mouth shut. Luke traded a glance with her.

"Hey!" he growled. "Watch it, punk!"

"You watch it!" the smaller guy retaliated. And then he hit him.

Annabeth flinched, but much to her surprise, Luke didn't move. _A soldier._ Wordlessly, he pulled her away from the brawling men. They needn't get caught up in the fight. A few spectators had surrounded them, jeering at them and cheering them on, trading crumpled bills- stained with dirt, sweat, and blood, and Annabeth felt sick at the blood plastered across the cracked cement, curling into the craters of the ground. Tugged out of the black market, out in the shadier slums, but not the tense market, Annabeth allowed herself to breathe. She'd only ever been in there a few times and it was always hard, but she'd learned a lot. She knew when to fight and when she'd lost. She'd learned to slip through the cracks and not care. She'd learned to not be herself.

"You see?" Annabeth panted, the exhaustion of that wretched place catching up with her. Luke looked pale in this dark part of town. "It's so messed up." That was the understatement of the year.

"I don't disagree with you." He paused, squeezing her hand in his. It helped her wildly palpitating heart calm down a little. "You're not alone, Annabeth."

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Change is coming," he promised and the blonde was taken off guard by his uncanny ability to read her mind. "And you're not the only one eager."

Annabeth's breath hitched. Was he trying to tell her something? Was he in this with her? But when push came to shove, whose side would he fight for? Would he fight for his own, make his own path? Luke was anything but predictable. "We'd better get back to the castle before someone notices we're missing. Wouldn't want rumors spreading like wildfire," Annabeth whispered and Luke looked sort of disappointed. But Annabeth wasn't sure yet if he was telling the truth. Everything pointed to that, everything he'd done, but why wouldn't he fight for his brother's side, for his father's, for the monarchy? What was his game, his angle? What was his motivation.

Ducking past drunk commoners with scratchy beards and glossy eyes, Annabeth slipped through the crowd, gripping Luke's fingers tight, almost as if she was afraid to let go.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"A letter, my Lady," Jason's voice cut through Annabeth's daydreams and she sat up straight, turning to face him expectantly. He held out a silver plate and true to his word, there was a letter, neatly folded and sealed in an envelope. The seal was gold, and though there was no indentation in it, probably so that it didn't stand out as much, Annabeth immediately recognized who it was from. By the uneasy look on Jason's face, he probably had gathered the same.

She plucked the parchment off the tray and Jason turned, stalking out of her bedroom, leaving her to her own privacy. Quickly, her eyes flew across the paper, soaking in the knowledge. And then she read it once more for good measure.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she stood and walked over to her fireplace. Thrusting the paper in the fire, Annabeth watched it burn, the paper curling and shriveling up as the flames danced, roaring brighter at the new visitor. She would not dare leave a paper trail behind, not dare give anyone a reason to believe her loyalties had swayed. That very day, late in the darkness of night, protected by the blanket of the moon and the stars, the Amazons would come. They knew Annabeth couldn't keep sneaking out to their town enough, especially because their base was in such a remote area, and so they would come to her. She had joined and now she had to prove herself; it was time for the first plan.

…

Finally, night had fallen upon them and as instructed, Annabeth covered herself in her dark cape, sneaking out her window to the courtyard. Hugging the outside castle walls, she kept hidden, only stepping out near a rose bush to alert them of her presence. She'd been careful not to be followed, but the paranoia still gnawed away at her, unsettling her. She felt particularly jumpy, afraid to be caught. She'd grown rather fond of her head and she wasn't sure she wanted her body separated from it.

"Excuse me if I don't curtsy," a voice said. A dark figure stepped out from behind tall trees and for a second, Annabeth nearly pierced them in the heart with her dagger, but stopped when she realized who it was. The woman's chocolate brown eyes reflected the moon, glowing in the dark with a cold fire. _Reyna had a real talent for theatrics._

Annabeth took a deep breath, releasing her iron grip on the hilt of her dagger. "General," she dipped her head out of respect. The dark-haired girl nodded in acknowledgement. Behind her, a few other figures stepped out of the plants, revealing themselves. Annabeth only recognized the bright blue eyes of the lieutenant, Thalia. Thalia's face was grim.

Reyna was dressed in dark clothing, concealing the gold underneath. A gold sword glinted wickedly against her side and a black bandana hid her nose and mouth. There was a new scar running down her right arm, her sword arm, and Annabeth realized that Reyna had been busy since she'd last seen her. Of course, Annabeth already knew this, she'd seen the news flashing across the screens, clips of buildings crumbling played on endless loops. Recently, the Amazons had bombed the capital of Epresh's archives- something that should have angered Annabeth (she loved books), but when she thought of all the stupid words expressed by the patriarchy and monarchy documented there, she shared Reyna's satisfaction.

Reyna didn't nod back, but then, Annabeth didn't expect her to. All business. "And the other one?" she murmured. _Other one?_

"Phoebe's bringing him," Thalia sounded breathless, excited even, about whoever they were waiting for. Even Reyna's eyes shone. Annabeth recognized the name of Phoebe as a servant of the castle. She had known that there were Amazon supporters within her own castle, but it hadn't quite occurred to her that someone else in the castle had recently joined. She figured now that she was an Amazon herself, Reyna would inform of any newcomers. Clearly that wasn't the case.

"What is it? Who else joined up?" They didn't answer her, exchanging glances instead. A few names ran through her head, servants and guards who would support the cause.

But the person who joined them was no servant. He wasn't even a commoner.

" _Luke."_

Annabeth didn't know whether to scream or run when she saw her betrothed appear from the shadows. He was a Prince, he was a man, he was a prominent figure of the monarchy, he was the enemy, and yet, here he was, standing with one of the leaders of the Amazons. His companion Phoebe, a young lady, a servant who appeared to be a bit older than Annabeth, seemed to swell with pride.

"I told you, you're not alone, Annabeth," Luke said, but he didn't smile. A hand twitched at his side- he was all nerves. Reyna scared him.

And Annabeth could see why. Reyna stepped towards both of them, sword now in hand, but she was just as nervous as he was. Still, her voice did not shake. "I want to hear it from your lips, little Prince. Tell me what you told her," she said, tipping her head towards Phoebe.

Luke sneered at "little Prince," his lips curving in distaste, but he didn't snap at her. "I want to join the Amazons," he said, his voice full of conviction.

Reyna moved quickly, holding her sword out and Thalia moved swiftly too, aiming her bow and arrow in the same motion. Annabeth's heart seemed to stop when she pressed the blade to his neck, but Luke didn't flinch. "Why?" she hissed.

"Because this is wrong," Luke began. "Because it isn't right that Annabeth can't even be on the royal council despite working in Epresh's politics for a decade now, since she was _seven_." Annabeth flushed with pride, despite herself. She didn't know he knew. "Because it isn't fair that the Queen has less power than the King. Because it isn't fair that women can't start up their businesses, own their own property, live for themselves. Because it isn't fair that they are expected to be married off like a royal, even if they're a commoner." Annabeth felt warm inside, trusting. He really had meant it, he really did want change, he really had meant that she was alone in this battle for a new life, a new dawn. How could she have ever trusted Percy like this? Luke may have been hidden in his brother's shadow to everyone else, but to her, he stood out in the spotlight, the real spark.

Reyna's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "So this is all your… what… love for _feminism_?" she scoffed. "We're very careful with the men we let join, so I'm going to need more than that."

"I've been raised to love the monarchy, but if it must fall for a revolution, then I will gladly watch it burn." Luke was convincing and Annabeth's prior fear faded away.

"But what's in it for you?" Thalia spoke up, not quite convinced yet.

Luke swiveled his head to look at her now and Annabeth saw Reyna's grip on the sword loosen, if only by a little. She let out a small breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. _Luke was different._ He'd proved it time and time again, but now, she could not make his case for him. Luke would have to prove himself and Annabeth's words would have no effect in Reyna's decision.

"When I was barely eight, I was training, _losing_ of course against my brother," he sounded a bit bitter. "I watched this young girl, Iris, around my age, step in to help with the wounds. A servant, nobody important to my brother or my father. My mother was watching, of course, but nobody stopped anyone. And suddenly, a shot was fired. It was accidental and I'm still not sure, to this day, who fired it in the middle of _training_ , for god's sake, but the bullet lodged itself in none other than this girl. My parents, unsure of my brother's and my own safety, ushered away while guards assessed the damage. And she was just there, bleeding all over the ground, but nobody did anything. They told me my life was worth more than hers, that our safe exit was more important than seeing to her care and recovery."

Reyna was listening carefully and Annabeth found herself leaning in, anticipating her next words. She knew what was going to happen, but she couldn't help herself.

"She died."

There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind Reyna and Annabeth's throat felt tight all of a sudden.

"I believe that my life is worth the same as yours," Luke gestured to Reyna, and then to Thalia. "I believe that change is worth it all the blood that will be shed, and I'm ready to lay down my life for this cause." He was ernest and relief enveloped Annabeth's senses.

"Touching story. But I don't need some jealous little boy in my army," Reyna sneered, referring to the Crown Prince of Thasite. "What do you bring to the Amazons?"

"I sit in the royal council, I know all the battle plans and I have all the intelligence you'll need to take down the royals."

The General fell silent for a moment, considering his words. Seemingly coming to a decision, she sniffed and glared at him straight in the eye. "Swear on it. Swear on your title," Reyna pressured him, pursing her lips. The skin around her mouth hardened. Annabeth was holding her breath once more.

Luke didn't hesitate. "I pledge myself and my blood of House Calbourne to the Amazons." It resembled his wedding 'invitation' (it hadn't been a choice, really), but Annabeth knew this carried much more weight, was ten times more important.

"Very well. Welcome to the Amazons," Reyna pulled the bandana down, revealing her face. She didn't grin like most would to get a Prince's alliance, but she seemed pleased nonetheless.

"Now what?" Annabeth found her own voice. "Where do we go from here?"

"Now we spark a revolution. And you two, you will do nicely," Reyna nodded.

Annabeth felt uneasy all of a sudden. "For what?" she inquired.

"For the faces of our revolution, of course," Thalia piped up. "What will the people think? Two royals turned against their own blood for the cause." She grinned and it was infectious. Reyna shared the same smile.

"We've already drawn attention to ourselves by bombing the capital," Reyna stated. "Now that we have everyone's eyes on us, it's time to put on a show."

"Put on a show?" Annabeth's voice felt small, even to herself. Luke glanced at her reassuringly. She held her chin up. "What kind of show?" she rephrased, bolder this time.

"They think they've won. Let us show that we are stronger than they think," Thalia shifted her weight onto her left foot.

Luke caught on quicker than Annabeth, understanding all of a sudden. "You want blood," he said and it wasn't a question.

"Blood?" Annabeth knew that every revolution required sacrifices, but this was finally going to be blood on _her_ hands. She felt weirdly sick.

This time, it wasn't Reyna who tried to convince Annabeth, but Luke, much to her surprise. "Annabeth, Percy will be a just ruler, but he does not want change. He does not want a revolution and though he is more progressive than our father, he has never been able to make decisions. He has never been able to pick anything over the crown. Blood will be necessary. Unless.. do you really want Percy to rule?"

That, at least, was a simple question. "No," she said with certainty.

"Excellent. Then blood it is."

Annabeth nodded slowly, but it still felt like there was something stuck in her throat. Something she couldn't quite swallow, couldn't process. This was a lot to take in, even for her.

"Indeed," Reyna nodded at the Prince. "Who do you suggest we use to send our message?"

"You're going to pick out people?" Annabeth could not disguise her surprise.

"Well, we're not about to bomb the entire place and maybe destroy some of our own. Besides, we're only trying to send a message, not cause a mass murder. We need survivors to carry the message," Reyna pointed out. She turned to Luke. "Who do you suggest?" Luke would know all the traitors, all the shady royals who could turn at any moment. He would know all enemies of the Amazons. Well- the _biggest_ ones.

"Duke Atlas of House Raya- he's going to be the first to oppose the Amazons. General Ares of House Langen- he's a bloodthirsty beast, and King Minos of the Southern Isles," said Luke without missing a beat.

"No royal children?" It fell out of Annabeth's mouth before she could process it. She was immediately horrified, an image of Nico and Bianca flashing through her mind. She would spare them, if she could. They were too good.

Luke offered a crooked smile. "Eager, I see." The Princess blanched, about to refuse his accusation, but he continued before she could. "Patience, Annabeth. All will get what they deserve in time." His eyes flashed coldly and for a moment, Annabeth felt another stab of guilt. The royal children were all innocent, even Drew, even if the most royal thing about her was that she was a _royal_ pain in the ass.

"Excellent," Reyna acknowledged the names. "They'll serve our purpose perfectly. There's going to be another ball soon, I presume? A show requires an audience."

"My parents are holding another ball, this time for the celebration of Malcolm's engagement." His name in her mouth felt like a sin here, here while they discussed who would die at that very ball. But Reyna looked pleased, so for once, Annabeth felt like she'd done _something_ right.

"Great. I'll be touch with the details. We cannot mess this up."

Thalia looked Luke over once more, pursing her lips carefully. "You better pray that your information is accurate, _little_ _Prince._ Or it'll be your head on the chopping block instead."

Luke did not rise to her challenge, remaining civil. It was yet another difference between him and Annabeth. Whereas the Princess was a bit more hotheaded, he was calm, tactful, powerful. She needed to learn to reign in her temper. It could only lead to bad things. "Of course, _Lieutenant_ ," he mocked in return.

"Take them back, Phoebe. It's getting to be suspiciously long, this meeting," Reyna ordered and Phoebe ushered the royal children back to the castle, but not before Annabeth could glance back at Reyna, the future uncertain and her faith in this plan wavering.

Reyna just nodded at her in affirmation before disappearing out of sight, gone like the wind.

* * *

**Annabeth**

" _Annabeth_ ," Malcolm's mouth fell open. He was quite appalled, that much was clear.

The tips of Annabeth's ears turned pink. "You can't tell anyone." She had come to talk to him, explain her poor behavior at _that_ breakfast, but instead he had walked on her inspecting some gold jewelry. Naturally, he'd been confused. House Ashington only had silver jewelry considering it was a House color. Annabeth couldn't lie to him. Every time she saw him, she remembered the ten year old boy looking out for her, loving her, being there.

Then Malcolm glared, his expression morphing into a much scarier, stricter one. It snapped Annabeth out of her reverie. "How can you ask me to do something like that?" His voice was quiet, but deadly. Annabeth's face felt hot all of a sudden, embarrassed. How stupid was she, truly? Of course he couldn't keep secrets like this, it would be treason. Treason… like her joining the Amazons in the first place. He was bound to be King in a few weeks, he could be executed for withholding information. Suddenly, her mouth felt very dry. Her brother's life was on the line too, now, along with herself and Luke. But she had not told him about the Calbourne Prince.

"Fuck," she whispered, eyes wide with fear.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed, his glare stony, like charcoal. To anyone else, they would have mistaken his cool demeanor for calmness. Annabeth was not nearly that foolish for she knew too, that blue flames had always burned hotter than red. Annabeth practically shrunk under his gaze. "And even if you weren't thinking, which you clearly weren't, why on Earth would you think it's good idea to let me know? It's a conflict of interest!" he snapped darkly. Annabeth swallowed hard, feeling like a young adolescent being scolded by a mother in public. Malcolm had not made her feel like a petulant child in so long, not since he was twelve and she was ten, not since they were young.

Malcolm was _nineteen_ now. The thought made her blood freeze, her nerves going numb. He was an adult, he was to be crowned King shortly, and still, try as she might, she could not catch with him. She could not be smart like him, not responsible like him, not inherently _good_ like him. Despite herself, Annabeth felt a burning sensation behind her eyes and she knew with certainty that she was going to cry soon. Only Malcolm could truly make her laugh, but only he could make her cry too. It went both ways. And all because she loved him, held him closest to her heart, he held this power over her, this unflappable iron grip.

"Malcolm, I-"

He held up his hand impatiently. "I don't want to hear it, Miss Chase. You are dismissed."

The pressure behind her eyes increased and she choked down a sob. Nodding at the ground, she turned quickly and walked away, the disappointment of him branding her, burning her deep. She was so stupid, and now she'd let down the only person who really cared about her. Well, besides Luke. But even the Prince didn't compare to her brother. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Malcolm would never turn her in, she knew as much. If he did, she would die, and as angry as he was, she knew he'd never let that happen. Deep down, he loved her too much.

And for his love, he would die. Her big, wonderful brother would die for her crimes.

Annabeth couldn't help it. She sobbed, her body wracking as she briskly stepped into her room and threw herself against the door, effectively slamming it. It felt dramatic, she'd never wept like this, but this was her big brother. She sniffled pathetically. There was only one thing she _could_ do. She couldn't let Malcolm die, and if one of their corpses had to be left behind, then so be it.

Annabeth had to turn herself in.


	8. 50 Shades of Blood

**Annabeth**

In all honesty, Annabeth hadn't been looking where she was going, so running into _someone_ was bound to happen.

"Shit!" she loudly cursed, bumping into a hard chest.

"Nice," he teased her for her language, looking down at her carefully. But when he saw the upset expression on her face, he wasn't smiling anymore. "Annabeth?"

"Luke?" Annabeth's eyes were rimmed red from frustration and earlier tears.

"Were you crying?" he frowned.

"No," said Annabeth, much too quickly. She wiped at her face furiously, only proving his point.

"What happened?"

Maybe it was his sympathetic tone and she felt that she deserved none of it, but Annabeth stiffened, her eyes hardening on his. "Nothing," she spit out rather savagely, and tried to push past him, only for him to catch her arms in his.

"Something obviously happened. You never struck me as the type to weep at the drop of a hat," he reasoned. Annabeth was quiet for a moment, unresponsive. And then:

"Malcolm knows," she whispered so quietly that Luke had to strain his ears to hear her.

Luke paused, trying to figure out exactly _what_ Malcolm knew. "He's turning you in?" his eyes went wide.

"No- no! He wouldn't," Annabeth assured him, but it felt half-hearted. Luke relaxed, if only for a moment. She took a deep breath. "But I am."

"No! Don't be stupid," he sputtered. "That helps no one."

"But it's treason, and Malcolm will be looped in with my crimes for not saying anything. It's the only way to save him," Annabeth argued, tears welling in her eyes once more.

Seeing her state of mind, Luke's tone softened. "Annabeth, nobody knows yet. We can keep it that way. Don't do it. You heard General Reyna, you're a symbol of the Amazons. We can't lose you this fast, this soon. It'll all be over soon and you won't have to wait much longer. Just wait for the ball tomorrow night, wait for a little change before you out yourself," he convinced her.

Annabeth bit her lip. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," he nodded. "Okay?"

She looked at the ground. "Okay," she hardly whispered, her voice raspy.

"Okay," he repeated, letting out a breath of relief. "Are we all good now?"

Annabeth nodded, still sniffling a little. Remembering her manners for probably the first time in her seventeen years of life, she squeezed his hand tightly, the pressure easing her mind. "Thank you." She let out her own breath she'd been holding in when he squeezed her hand in return. Luke was right. It would all work out in the end, she just needed patience, and she couldn't lose her head in the process. Faith and stamina, she could make this work. Nobody was dying, not yet, not except for those who Luke offered for their plan. Everything was in her control, she just needed to breathe. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, she calmed herself, allowing just this once for Luke's comfort.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Tell me about the Queen." It came out of her mouth before she could even think about what she'd said. Annabeth's lips parted in surprise, just as shocked by her request as her teacher was. Annabeth didn't even have to say her name for Chiron to know exactly who she was talking about. Percy's mother. His sister. His _dead_ sister. Chiron was House Calbourne, despite serving the Ashingtons. He had turned his back on Calbournes a long time ago, ever since Queen Medusa moved in with her son, Percy's half-brother, Luke. Chiron's face darkened.

"What do you want to know?" His tone was curt, but Annabeth pushed ahead.

"No one seems to say anything about her. Not to me, anyways."

"People don't like to talk about dead Queens," he snapped, turning away from her in a smooth motion. "But they talked when she was alive. Sally Jackson, the Kind Queen." Annabeth had never seen Chiron this way, not once. Usually he was quiet, calm, a little obsessed maybe, but never angry. Never so hurt. "She wasn't chosen by a betrothal, you know. Not like Medusa, or Drew, or even you. No, Poseidon married my sister because he loved her- and she loved him." He paused, glancing at the old book in his hand. "They hated her because we were from a low house, because we didn't have strength or power or any other silly thing those people uphold," Chiron railed on, still looking away. His shoulders heaved with each breath. "And when my sister became Queen, she threatened to change all that. She was king, compassionate, a mother who could raise Percy to be the King their country, _our_ country needed to unite us all. A King who wouldn't be afraid of change. But that never came to be."

"They killed her," Annabeth's voice felt small. Chiron nodded.

"They killed my sister. She stood in the way, and she was removed. And-" his voice dropped "-they'll do it again, to anyone they have to. Even Percy, even Luke, and especially you." _Especially me._ Annabeth felt her heart beat faster.

"I thought you wanted to change things, Chiron."

"I do indeed. But these things take time." He stared her up and down, like somehow he knew she'd already taken the first step down a dark path.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Luke wiped blood from his sleeve, frowning at the ground.

"You can't let people corner you like that, Lukey," Percy offered some advice, clasping his little brother by the shoulder. "When they have the advantage, you've got to be careful. He had a bow and arrows, he had the advantage, you should give them space and play the defensive role."

Annabeth looked at Luke's scowl and understood immediately. "Thanks, Percy, I think he gets it." Percy frowned. He wasn't stupid. He walked away from them both, standing by Drew's side instead. Annabeth wished he wouldn't. She ignored him, turning her attention back to the younger Calbourne brother.

Training sessions with the royals were interesting, to say the least. She was so used to training only against Jason her entire life, but with the royal children in castle, the instructor had come out to make sure nobody died and match up fights. However, before all this ball business and betrothals, a few weeks ago, Annabeth had just finished recovering from fractured ribs and a collarbone. (Climbing out the window hadn't gone as well that night). Under the strict instructions of the castle healer, Will Solace, Annabeth was not to train with the others, so she had come to just watch. In her training suit. _Fine_ , she wanted to train. Stubborn as Will was, nobody could out-stubborn Annabeth. Still, Instructor Zeus had not paired her up yet, probably following Will's orders better than the blonde could.

"He's right, you know," she said gently to Luke.

"He's always right when it comes to the arena," he said, strangely upset. "Just wait and see." Across the arena, Drew smiled at the murderous display in front of them. How she could watch her friends bleeding on the floor, Annabeth didn't know. _Royals were different_ , she reminded herself. Their scars didn't last. They didn't remember pain. With healers waiting in the wings, violence had taken on a new meaning for them. A broken spine, a split stomach, it didn't matter. Someone would always come to fix you. They didn't know the meaning of danger or fear or pain. It was only their pride that could ever truly be hurt.

Annabeth swallowed. Sometimes when she thought like that, she realized just how much like she had begun to talk like a commoner. Like an Amazon. Like she wasn't still royal in blood, even if not by nature. _You are royal. You are Princess Annabeth Chase. You enjoy this._

Percy's eyes darted between the girls, studying them like a book or a painting rather than a moving mass of blood and bone. Annabeth studied his appearance absentmindedly wondered why make a training suit white, why not blue for their other house color? Healers could heal the person, not clean the suit with some bullshit magic. Hers was a dark orange, dark enough that it could seem gold if under the right light. Beneath the white cut of this training suit, Percy's muscles tensed, ready for his turn.

And when it came, she understood what Luke meant.

Instructor Zeus pitted Percy against two others, both of whom Annabeth didn't recognize enough to know their houses or titles, but she knew enough to know they were respected well enough. One was a boy by the name of Chris Rodriguez flipped his wrist back, unsheathing two matching butterfly knives. He curled his fingers under the catch, prowling in a circle like a predator would a prey, only Annabeth saw that his knuckles were white, and she knew that she was about to witness something very important. The other young man, Ethan Nakamura, had an eyepatch covering his left eye. Annabeth knew that, despite how _incredible_ the healers were, some injuries were built to last the rest of a lifetime, and despite herself, she felt a stab of sympathy for him. He had a dark hair and pale skin, and like Percy, his weapon of choice was a sword. But while Percy's was a longsword, Ethan wielded a claymore with a broader hilt.

It was a match in name only. Despite being outnumbered, Percy toyed with the other two. He incapacitated them one at a time, trapping Chris in a corner with a few slices of the air. He drove him behind a few boxes, successfully hindering his progress while trading blows with Ethan. He looked like he was made of stone, made of solid rock rather than flesh, and his face was hard, but Percy was stronger. His blows splintered Ethan's shield, sending spider cracks through his armor with every punch. This was just practice to him; Percy almost looked bored. He ended the match when the arena exploded into a churning inferno that even Luke stepped back from. By the time the smoke and fire cleared, both Ethan and Chris yielded. Their skin cracked in bits of burned flesh, but neither cried out. Percy left them both behind, not bothering to watch as Will Solace appeared to fix them up.

He saved Annabeth from the council, he broke the rules for her, he let her speak to him however she liked. And he was a merciless soldier, the heir to a bloody throne. Only then she realized why his suit was white, even when Luke's was a dark blue. He could afford white; he was only ever victorious. Annabeth swallowed her bile.

Percy's blood might have been red and proud, but his heart was black as burned skin.

When his eyes trailed to hers, she forced herself to look away. Instead of letting his warmth, his strange kindness confuse her, Annabeth committed the inferno to memory. Percy was more dangerous than all of them put together. She could not forget that.

"Drew, Phobos," Zeus clipped, nodding at the pair of them. Phobos deflated, almost annoyed at the prospect of fighting- and losing- to Drew, but dutifully trudged into the arena. To Annabeth's surprise, Drew didn't budge.

"No," she said boldly, planting her feet.

When Zeus whirled to face her, his voice rose about his usual whisper and it cut like a razor. "I beg your pardon, Lady Tanaka?"

She turned her black eyes on Annabeth, and her gaze was sharp as any knife.

"I challenge Annabeth Chase."

"Absolutely not," Luke rumbled. "She's been light training for only two weeks since her injury; you'll cut her apart."

In response, Drew just shrugged, letting a lazy smirk rise to her features. Her fingers danced against her leg, and Annabeth could almost feel them like claws across her golden skin.

"So what if she does?" Clarisse La Rue broke in, and Annabeth thought she saw a gleam in her eye. "The healers are here. There'll be no harm done. Besides, if she's going to train with us, she might as well do it properly, right?"

 _No harm done,_ Annabeth scoffed in her head. _No harm but my blood exposed for all to see._ Her heartbeat thumped in her head, quickening with every passing second. Overhead, the lights shone brightly, illuminating the ring. Annabeth was desperate to get training again, but not to shatter her pride to Drew of all people and break something real bad again, putting her out for another couple months, benching her from the Amazons, and worst of all, incensing Will, one of her favorite people in the castle. She was a temptress, but she wasn't stupid.

"I'd like some more time observing before I get in the ring, if you don't mind," she replied, trying her best to sound calm. Instead, her voice quavered. Drew caught it.

"Too scared to fight?" she goaded, lazily flicking a hand. One of her knives, a little thing like a tooth of silver, circled her wrist slowly in open threat. "Poor little Annie."

 _Yes,_ she wanted to scream. _Yes, I am scared._ But royals didn't admit things like that. Royals had their pride, their strength- and nothing else. "When I fight, I intend to win," she said instead, throwing her words back in her face. "I'm not a fool, Drew, and I cannot win yet."

"Training outside the ring can only get you so far, Annabeth," Clarisse purred, latching on to her lie with glee. "Don't you agree, Instructor? How can she ever expect to win if she doesn't try?"

There's a glint of curiosity in Zeus's eye. He knew Annabeth used to be real strong before her injury and he wanted to see Annabeth in the ring as well. And her only allies, Percy and Luke (Malcolm and Bianca weren't training, and Nico was taking a break), exchanged worried glances, wondering how to proceed across such shaky ground. Didn't they expect this? Didn't they think it would come to this? Or maybe this was what she had been headed for all along. An accidental death in Training, another lie for Queen Medusa to tell, a fitting death for the girl who didn't belong. It was a trap she willingly stepped into. The game will be over long before it had began. And everyone she loved would lose.

"Lady Chase is the daughter of a war-strategist heroine and you can do nothing but tease her," Percy growled, referring to Queen Athena, throwing daggered glances at both girls. They barely seemed to notice, almost laughing at his poor defense. He might have been a born fighter, but was at a loss when it came to words.

Drew was even more incensed, her sly nature taking hold. Whereas Percy was a warrior in the ring, she was a soldier of speech, and twisted his words with frightening ease. "Queen Athena's daughter should do well in the ring. If anything, I should be afraid."

"She wasn't raised in the war times, Athena didn't teach her war strategy, don't be foolish-," Luke sneered. He was much better at this sort of thing, but Annabeth couldn't let him win her battles. Not with these girls.

"I will not fight," she said again. "Challenge someone else.

When Drew smiled, her teeth white and sharp, Annabeth's old instincts rung in her head like a bell. She barely had time to drop as her knife burned through the air, cutting through the spot where her neck was seconds before.

"I challenge you," she snapped, and another blade flew at her face. More were tucked into her belt, ready to cut the blonde to ribbons.

"Drew, stop-," Luke shouted, and Percy pulled Annabeth to her feet, his eyes alive with worry. Her blood sang, coursing with adrenaline, her pulse so loud she almost missed his whispered words.

"You're faster. Keep her on the run. Don't be afraid." Another knife blazed by, this time digging into the ground at her feet. "Don't let her see you bleed."

Over his shoulder, Drew prowled like a predatory cat, a glittering storm of knives in her fist.

In that instant, Annabeth knew nothing and no one would stop her. Not even the Princes. And she could not give her the chance to win. She could not lose.

Annabeth unsheathed her trusty dagger, and throwing with the grace of many, many years of practice, it streaked through the air at her command. It hit Drew in the chest and she staggered back, colliding with the outer wall of the arena. But instead of looking angry, Drew regarded the Princess with glee.

"This will be quick, Annie," she snarled, wiping away a trickle of blood.

All around, the other students drew back, glancing between the two of them. This could have been the last time they saw her alive. _No_ , Annabeth thought again. _I cannot lose._ Her focus intensified, deepening her sense of power until it was so strong she hardly noticed the walls shifting around them both. With a click, Instructor Zeus reclosed the arena, locking them in together, an Amazon and a smiling poisonous monster.

She grinned across at Annabeth, twirling the knives dangerously. Power raced through her, driven by her own strength- and by need. She would not die here.

On the other side of the wall, Luke smiled, but his face was pale, afraid. Next to him, Percy didn't move. A soldier didn't blink until the battle was won.

"Who has the advantage?" Instructor Zeus asked, as he always did. "Annabeth or Drew?"

No one raised a hand. Not even Drew's friends. Instead, they stared between them, watching carefully.

Drew's smile faded into a sneer. She was used to being favored, to being the one everyone's afraid of. And now she was angrier than ever. A flash of metal soared through the air- one of Drew's throwing knives- aiming straight from Annabeth's head, and just like that, the fight had begun.

Annabeth hit the ground, the knife grazing her ear. A drop of blood fell onto her orange suit, blending easily. She grit her teeth, scanning her surroundings. Luke might have been right, maybe Athena had not taught her formally, but Annabeth had taught herself, forgoing sleep and food, basic self-care, to forage her mother's documentations of her brilliant mind. It was engraved in her mind and in a fight like this, she saw it all so clearly. Her body was rusty, but her brain was not.

Her steel grey eyes landed on the squeaky metal light fixture swinging on the ceiling in the center between them. And like that, she knew what to do. Sweeping up the knife Drew had discarded (that was why Annabeth had never liked throwing daggers; it was inefficient), she aimed high and pursing her lips in concentration, she let go, sending it flying into the sky. Drew's mouth parted in surprise as the knife shattered the fluorescent lights, glass raining down on them. Darkness and light exploded back and forth, plunging them both into a strange battle of flickering color. Annabeth ducked behind a shield rack, quicker than Drew. But she was not completely spared, a shard slicing her left forearm. Annabeth bit her lip, ignoring the pain. Drew had taken more of the hit, a few ribbons of red flowing from her arms. Annabeth didn't have it in her to smile. A small victory was no victory. She still could die. She could not lose her head to this.

Percy's advice echoed in her head, and she kept moving, never sticking to one spot on the floor long enough for Drew to hurt her. Drew weaved through the dark, dodging Annabeth's parries as best she could. Jagged metal tore at Annabeth's arms, but the leather suit held firm. Drew was fast, but the blonde was faster, even with knives whizzing past her head occasionally. For a second, her infuriating dark braid passed through her fingertips, before she was out of reach again. But Annabeth had her on the run. She was winning.

Annabeth heard Luke through the shriek of metal and cheering classmates, roaring for her to finish Drew. The lights flashed, making her hard to spot, but for a brief moment, she felt like what it was to be one of them again. To feel strength and power absolutely, to know you could do what millions couldn't. Drew felt like this every day, and now it was her turn. _I'll teach you what it's like to know fear._

A fist slammed against the small of Annabeth's back, shooting pain through the rest of her body. Her knees buckled with agony, sending her to the ground. Drew paused above the blonde, her smile surrounded by a messy curtain of dark hair.

"Like I said," she snarled. "Quick."

Annabeth's legs moved on their own, swinging out in a maneuver she'd used in the back alleys of the black market and slums a hundred times. Even on Jason once or twice. Maybe even Malcolm. Her foot connected with Drew's leg, sweeping it out from under her, and she crashed to the floor next to Annabeth. The Amazon warrior was on her in a second, despite the exploding pain in her back. Her hands, skilled and experienced, collided against the Japanese girl's face. Pain seared through her knucklebone but she kept going, wanting to see sweet red blood.

"You'll wish it was quick," Annabeth whispered, but it was strong, a deadly whisper- like Percy- as she beared down on her.

Somehow, through her bruising lips, Drew managed to laugh. The sound melted away, replaced by metallic screeching. And only then Annabeth realized that Drew had picked up one of the light fixture's glass shards. A rookie mistake- she'd forgotten to make sure she was disarmed before turning it into a fist fight. Annabeth's own dagger was scattered somewhere across the arena. Her confidence wavered, replaced by a prickly fear. It had been too long since she'd done this. She was too stupid, too inexperienced, too rusty. She was going to die here, and everyone would watch.

Drew knocked her off. She was the pinned now, looking up at the shard of metal. The spark in her heart died, driven away by fear and exhaustion. Even the healer wouldn't be able to save her after this.

A razor tip dragged across her face, drawing red, hot blood. Annabeth heard herself scream, not in pain, but in defeat. This was the end.

And then an arc of steel- his signature double-edged sword- knocked the glass off her, burning it into nothing more than a charred black pile of ash. Strong hands pulled her to her feet and then went to hair, pulling it across her face to hide the red mark that betrayed her pride. Annabeth turned in to Luke, letting him walk her from the training room. Every inch of her shook, but he kept her steady and moving. Will came her way, but Luke waved him away, blocking her face from his sight to protect her pride and give the blonde some breathing room. Room to come to terms with what just happened.

Before the door slammed behind them, Annabeth heard Drew yelling and Percy's usually calm voice yelling right back, roaring over her like a storm.

...

Once outside, Luke kept a tight grip on her arm, like he was afraid that she might be pulled away from him. His hand ghosted over her face, wiping away the blood with his sleeve.

"Take me to Chiron." Chiron was her beloved instructor and Annabeth had always had a close bond with the old man.

"Chiron's a fool," he muttered.

"Chiron knows who I am," she whispered back, grabbing on to him. As his grip tightened, so did hers.

"Chiron will know what to do."

Luke looked down on her, conflicted, but finally nodded. By the time they reached Chiron's quarters, the bleeding had stopped, but her face was still a mess.

He opened the door on the first knock, looking like his usual haphazard self. To Annabeth's surprise, he frowned at Luke.

"Prince Luke," he said, bending into a stiff, almost insulting bow. Luke didn't respond, only pushing her past Chiron into the sitting room beyond.

Chiron had a small set of rooms, made smaller by darkness and stale air. The curtains were drawn, blotting out the afternoon sun, and the floor was slippery with loose stacks of paper. A kettle simmered in the corner, on an electric piece of metal meant to replace a stove. No wonder Annabeth never saw him outside of Lessons; he appeared to have everything he needed right here.

"What's going on?" he asked, waving them to a pair of dusty chairs. Obviously he didn't entertain much. Annabeth took a seat, but Luke refused, still standing.

She drew aside her curtain of hair, revealing the shining red of her cheek. "Drew got carried away."

Chiron shifted, uncomfortable on his own two feet. But it was not her making him squirm; it was Luke.

The two glared at each other, at odds over something she didn't understand. Finally, he turned his gaze back on her. "I'm not a healer, Annabeth. The best I can do is clean you up."

"I told you," said Luke. "He can't do anything."

Chiron's lip curled into a snarl. "Find Kayla Knowles," he snapped, his jaw tightening as he waited for Luke to move. Annabeth had never seen Luke this angry, not even with Percy. But then, it was not anger spilling out from Luke or Chiron- it was hate. They absolutely despised each other.

"Do it, my Prince." The title sounded like a curse coming from Chiron's lips.

Luke finally conceded and slipped out the door.

"What's that all about?" she whispered, gesturing between Chiron and the door.

"Not now," he said, and tossed her a white cloth to clean herself with. It stained a dark red as her blood ruined the fabric.

"Who's Kayla Knowles?" The castle healer was Will Solace and she had never heard of this mysterious Kayla.

Again, Chiron hesitated. "A healer. She'll take care of you." He sighed. "And she's a friend. A discreet friend."

Annabeth didn't know Chiron had friends beyond herself and his books, but she didn't question him.

When Luke slipped back into the room a few moments later, she had managed to clean her face properly, though it still felt sticky and swollen. She'd have a few bruises to hide tomorrow, and she didn't even want to know what her back looked like now. Gingerly, Annabeth touched the growing lump where Drew punched her.

"Kayla's not…" Luke paused, mulling over the words. "She's not who I would have chosen for this."

Before she could ask, the door opened, revealing the woman who she assumed was Kayla. She entered silently, barely raising her eyes. She looked to be about the age of any other castle healer, about a decade older than the eldest of the royal children, maybe twenty five years younger than Chiron, but her shoulders drooped in a way that told Annabeth her life had felt far longer than his.

"Nice to meet you, Lady Knowles." Her voice was calm, like she was asking about the weather. But Kayla didn't respond. Instead, she dropped to her knees in front of Annabeth's chair and took her face in her rough hands. Her touch was cool, like water on a sunburn, and her fingers trailed over the gash on her cheek with surprising gentleness. She worked diligently, healing over the other bruises on her face. Before she could mention her back, Kayla slipped a hand down to the injury, and something like soothing ice bled through the pain. It was all over in a few moments, and the blonde felt like she did when she first came here. Better, in fact. Her old aches and bruises were completely gone.

"Thank you," Annabeth said, but again, she got no response.

"Thank you, Kayla," Chiron breathed, and her eyes darted to his in a flash of blue color. Her head bowed slightly, in the tiniest nod. He reached forward as he helped her to her feet. The two of them moved like partners in a dance, listening to music no one else could hear.

Luke's voice shattered their silence. "That will be all, Knowles."

Kayla's quiet calm melted into barely concealed anger as she spun out of Chiron's grip, scrambling for the door like a wounded animal. The door shut behind her with a slam, shaking the framed maps in their glass prisons. Even Chiron's hands shook, trembling long after she was gone, like he could still feel her.

"Chiron?"

"The longer you're gone, the more people will start to talk," he muttered, gesturing for them to leave.

"I agree." Luke moved to the door, ready to open it and shove Annabeth back out.

"Are you sure no one saw?" Annabeth asked, thinking of Kayla. It was obvious that Kayla wasn't well known for a reason, though she didn't know yet what it was. Her hand moved to her cheek, now smooth and clean.

Luke paused, thinking. "No one who would say anything."

"Secrets don't stay secrets here," Chiron muttered. His voice quivered with rare anger. "You know that, Your Highness."

Annabeth was reminded of an earlier conversation with her beloved teacher. His anger was so familiar to how it had been when he had spoke long ago. He had been talking about the Amazons, ironically enough. She hadn't joined up yet, not back then, but Annabeth knew that Chiron still wanted change, the same as her. Chiron had echoed Jason's opinion, saying the Amazons scared people, that Annabeth could be the slow change people needed.

"You should know the difference between secrets," Luke snapped, "and lies.'

His hand closed around Annabeth's wrist, pulling her back out into the hall before she could bother to ask what was going on. They didn't make it far before a familiar figure stopped them.

"Trouble, dear?"

Queen Medusa, a vision in silk, addressed Luke. Strangely, she was alone, with no guards to protect her. Her eyes lingered on his hand still in hers. For once, Annabeth didn't feel her try to read her mind with that cold look. She was probably scrutinizing Luke instead, not her.

"Nothing I can't handle," Luke said, tightening his grip on Annabeth like she was some kind of anchor.

Medusa raised an eyebrow, not believing a word he said, but she didn't question him. Annabeth seriously doubted she really questioned anyone; she knew all the answers.

"Best hurry up, Lady Annabeth, or you'll be late for luncheon," she purred, finally turning her ghostly eyes on the blonde. And then it was her turn to hold on to Luke. "And take a little more care in your Training sessions, little Annie. Blood is just so hard to clean up."

"You would know," Annabeth snapped, remembering the people from town. "Because no matter how hard you try to hide it, I see it all over your hands."

Her eyes widened, surprised by her outburst. Annabeth didn't think anyone had ever spoken to her that way, and it made her feel like a conqueror. But it didn't last long.

Suddenly her body twitched backward, thrown into the passage wall with a resounding smack. Medusa sure knew how to place a blow. She made Annabeth dance like a puppet on violent strings. Every bone rattled and her neck cracked, slamming her head back until she saw icy blue stars.

No, not stars. Eyes. Her eyes.

"Mother!" Luke shouted, but his voice sounded far away. "Mother, stop!"

A hand closed around Annabeth's throat, holding her in place as control of her own body ebbed away. Her breath was sweet on her face, too sweet to stand.

"You will not speak to me like that again," Medusa said, extremely angry. Her grip tightened, and Annabeth couldn't even agree with her if she wanted to.

 _Why doesn't she just kill me?_ Annabeth wondered as she gasped for breath. If she was such a burden, such a problem, why didn't she just kill her?

"That's enough!" Luke roared, the heat of his anger pulsing through the passage. Even through the hazy darkness eating at Annabeth's vision, she saw him pull his mother off her with surprising strength and boldness.

Annabeth slumped against the wall. Medusa almost stumbled herself, reeling with shock. Now her glare turned on Luke, on her own son standing against her.

"Return to your schedule, Annabeth." He seethed, not breaking eye contact with his mother. Annabeth had no doubt that she was about to start screaming at him, scolding him for protecting her. "Go!"

Heat crackled all around, radiating off his skin, and for a moment Annabeth was reminded of Percy's guarded temper. It seemed Luke hid a fire as well, an even stronger one, and she didn't want to be around when it exploded.

As she scrambled away, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and the Queen, she couldn't help but look back at them. They stared at each other, two pieces squaring off in a game she didn't understand.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Back in her room, the maids waited silently, another gilded dress laid across their arms. Annabeth wrung her hands as her handmaidens fussed over her appearance. While one slipped her into the spectacle of silk and amber gemstones, the others fixed her hair and makeup. As usual, they didn't say a word, even though Annabeth looked frantic and harried after such a morning. The blonde fell silent as they dressed her in silver and orange, quietly staring at the asshole in the mirror. Knowing what she knew, knowing what was going to happen at the ball, she wasn't sure she recognized herself anymore.

…

Annabeth pressed her hand into Luke's. Her palms were sweating and she prayed he couldn't feel it. Maybe he was just holding on to be nice. She was sure she was sticky by now from the perspiration.

"Breathe," his teeth grazed her ear and Annabeth stood up stiff. She nodded, exhaling slowly.

"You're right." It sounded like she was trying to assure herself instead of him. "Breathe," she repeated, inhaling slowly and releasing the air once more.

"This will be easy," he promised her, holding her gaze. "You just have to stay out of the commotion. That's all." She nodded again.

"What if it fails?" she voiced her concern, peering up at him helplessly.

"It won't."

"You can't be sure of that," she pointed out.

His expression was grim, his mouth set in a flat line. "Then we die traitors."

…

Next to them, Phoebe, the servant, brushed up against Annabeth, signaling the beginning of this murder. Annabeth shut her eyes, if only for a moment. It was unrealistic and childish, but perhaps if she didn't see it happen, it wouldn't be true. She thought of Piper and Drew, Silena too. They were going to lose a dad. _Fuck._ Annabeth squeezed Luke's hand tightly, fairly positive she was hurting him, but she was unable to stop. These nerves inside her, where were they supposed to go but rot inside of her? She couldn't handle this, she couldn't carry this guilt. Deep down, she'd always been a good little girl, doing as Athena said, following Malcolm's example. This hurt her worse than it should have.

"Three," Luke whispered, and suddenly it felt all so real. _Wait._ "Two." _Wait!_ She wanted to wave her hands in front of the armed Amazons, hidden in the ceiling, wave a white flag of surrender and warn them not to shoot. She wanted to call it off, but it was too late, because they had reached the end already. "One."

As her world exploded around her, Annabeth exhaled one more time, knowing nothing would ever be the same.

…

There was a ringing in her ears. Panic seized the Princess. Screams were drowning in her fuzzy hearing and blurry vision. Part of the ballroom was set on fire. _A bomb?_ It was supposed to be three clean bullets, not a bomb. Anger swirled inside of her. She had known, she _knew_ it was a fucking bad idea, and now gods knew how many were dead. _Fuck. Shit._ As she scanned her surroundings, she realized that Luke wasn't by her side anymore. Percy was across the room somewhere, his eyes lit up and livid as he barked out orders. He was probably trying to capture the Amazons. Annabeth wasn't so sure if she wanted him to or not anymore. There were two Generals of two different squads there that night, not just Reyna. Though Annabeth wasn't familiar with the other one. Perhaps Percy would catch them both.

Annabeth fought the temptation to lie there on the ground, the explosion claiming her life along with many others. She sat up, cradling her hand with the other and gazing at it in astonishment. Even in the dark (the Amazons must have cut the power), she could barely make out the slick, red shine on her smooth skin. It wasn't her own blood, that much she was sure of. And then she saw it.

She scooted back hastily, horror-stricken. The hem of her gown was dark with blood. Around her, bodies had fallen, and those who were still alive, had cuts and bruises. There was lots of shouting, but she could only focus on one thing. On whose blood she had soaked up in the explosion.

There at her feet was none other than the Crown Princess herself, daughter of House Pevanshire, her face paler than usual, her dark eyes wide open and terrified, but… empty. Annabeth dry heaved, involuntary tears streaming down her face. It was supposed to be three people! _Three!_ And this bomb, it had claimed a sister, a future wife, a kind Queen, the sort of Queen Annabeth knew the country needed if the monarchy wasn't killed by the Amazons first.

 _What will Nico do?_ Annabeth sobbed then, covering her mouth with the other hand, praying this was all some twisted nightmare. But no matter how many times she blinked, she could not wake up from this. It was reality. It was real and Bianca di Angelo Pevanshire was dead. Selfishly, perhaps, she felt relief that Malcolm was still there. That it wasn't her brother instead. Only that made her cry harder, worsening her growing headache. She was sure she had hit her head too hard. Because Malcolm was screaming too, Percy and him working efficiently together to get to the bottom of this crime.

She hoped he'd kill her. She hoped she'd die for her crimes. She hoped Luke would make it out alive and Percy wouldn't miss her, because this was too much. But she knew she was only lying to herself, because all of a sudden, there he was.

"Annabeth?!" it was a cry of madness. His sea-green eyes were wide with panic. She probably didn't look too great, bleeding all over the place. In a split second, he was by her side. Malcolm looked like an angel from here, and she could practically see his white, feathered wings as he charged out of the ballroom, guards surging after him for assistance. He would serve mercy, because he knew what to do. He wasn't stupid like her. He was good. It helped steady Annabeth's breathing.

"Annabeth?" Percy was hovering over her, his shadow blocking out Malcolm and the rest of the cries and the world. He pressed on her wound and she couldn't even cry out, she was so fucking exhausted…

"It's not my blood," she tried to say.

"Some of it is," said Percy, and though he was doing his best to stem the bleeding, his breathing was ragged, almost as if he was worried or something. Foolish Prince. Why would he even want to save her? She was a traitor, and she was stupid. "I need you to breathe, Annabeth," he pleaded and part of her really didn't want to go. She wanted to sit there and listen to him talk some more, but the other part was so done with all this shit. "Stay with me, Princess. I just need to get you to Will."

"Are you worried Malcolm will kill you if I die?" She squinted at him, her eyelids heavy. He paled.

"No, Annabeth. And you're not going to die."

"I'm bleeding a lot," she pointed out.

"I don't care. You're not going to die."

He was wrapping something around her, but she could barely register his touch at this point. _A soldier, born and bred._ He knew how to treat wounds, of course he did.

"Is there anything you can't do?" she inquired dazedly.

He didn't look at her, focused on the task at hand. "Of course."

"Like what?" she pressed, hoping his distraction would rip the image of Bianca's corpse out of her mind. Though she knew nothing ever would. In some ways, she responsible for taking Nico's sister from the world.

"Stuff," he wasn't really listening to her, still trying to save her. Idiot. _Just let me die._

"What stuff?"

"Annabeth, I'm trying to save you here. Please not now," his hands were shaking. Why were his hands shaking?

"Don't," she shook her head, leaning her head back against the wall.

"Don't save you?" his tone was incredulous, and partly shocked, she thought. She liked shocking him. If she had any more strength, she might have smiled.

"Bingo." She licked her chapped lips. "Winner winner, chicken dinner."

He stared at her. "What the hell, Annabeth?" She was ninety percent sure that the blood loss was making her slightly delirious.

"Go save the day," she tried to push him away, but ended up just splaying her hand over his chest lazily instead. She didn't have the strength to push him, not right now. "Be everyone's favorite hero, Prince." And this time, she did grin. She didn't feel like herself. "Big, strong Perseus to the rescue. That'll be one hell of a story." She coughed. "Bianca's dead. It should've been me. Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe they meant to shoot me instead." Her grin only widened and Percy looked fucking terrified. Maybe she was going crazy.

"Annabeth?" his voice sounded small, like it was fading away. "Annabeth, stay with me. Don't go to sleep, no, Princess you've got to try and stay awake…"

Slipping into the darkness and surrendering, Annabeth choked over her tears as it all went black, her head still pounding like a machine gun.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Annabeth, Annabeth wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open and immediately, it felt like she was underwater, the sound fuzzy and muffled, her sight blurry. She blinked a couple times, her elbow freezing cold. Glancing down, she noticed an ice pack pressed against the joint. And then it all came back to her.

The blackout. The screams. The blood, the blood seeping into her. And Bianca, dead amongst many others. It was supposed to be only three dead, three chosen beforehand, and instead many more were injured and many more were dead. Some were children. The pain of the memories burned deeper than the pain in her body. Annabeth exhaled softly, her eyes sliding shut again.

"Annabeth, you've got to wake up. They caught them."

She opened her eyes, trying to process the words.

"They caught Reyna and Thalia."

At that, she shot up in the bed immediately. She was instantly hit by a wave of nausea and dizziness.

"Careful," two hands reached out to stabilize her, allowing her to lean against them for support. She glanced up at two familiar blue eyes and tried to calm her heartbeat. "You passed out," Luke explained briefly.

"Where are they?" Annabeth inquired, ignoring the pain shooting up her arm and the pounding in her head.

"The cells," Luke whispered. "Percy's with them."

Annabeth grit her teeth, angry for letting this happen. "Why the fuck did a bomb go off? Why didn't Reyna tell us?"

Luke couldn't offer any explanation. "Come on," he said instead, "let's go see them. Maybe we can convince Percy to spare them." Annabeth sat up eagerly, allowing him to steady her and burden her weight. Taking her hand, he led her towards the cells below the castle. Annabeth followed obediently, her mind whirring a million times a second. This… this was bad.

…

In the cellar, Percy stood in the center, flanked by a few guards. Malcolm was there too, King Poseidon and King Frederick as well. Queen Athena wasn't here yet, but Queen Aphrodite stood by the side. Annabeth's gaze immediately darted to the prisoners behind the bars. Thalia appeared relatively unscathed, but she had a couple scrapes and bruises. There was a third girl, as well. One with dark hair and eyes, similar to Reyna's, though she looked a little older. Annabeth could only assume they were related. Another girl, one Annabeth had also never seen, was sitting on the ground, clutching her leg. It had a bullet in it and her wrist dangled awkwardly, dislocated. Somehow, she still seemed familiar. Perhaps it was the gold band around her head, like a hunter. _Zoë Nightshade_ , Annabeth realized. She had indeed heard of her. But that wasn't the biggest of her worries. Annabeth swallowed and glanced at the General. Reyna had a large gash down her arm and it was bleeding a lot, enough that Annabeth worried. But that didn't stop her from sneering at them. She even spit through the bars, a mix of blood and saliva that landed at Drew's feet.

"Take her tongue for that," Drew snarled.

Reyna held her gaze, barely blinking at the outburst. If this was her end, she was certainly going to go with her head high. "A little violent for a Princess."

Before Drew could lose her temper, Percy raised his hand, slowly, pointing. "You."

With a horrific lurch, Annabeth realized he was pointing at Thalia. A muscle twitched in Thalia's cheek, but she kept her eyes on the floor. "You." He didn't look at the blonde, but:

"Annabeth, explain this." Annabeth's mouth fell open in surprise. Her first thought, jolting as it was, _how did he know?_ But before she could blurt out all her secrets, she realized he probably didn't. So why was he questioning her?

"Excuse me?" she choked, looking at him in surprise.

"She's your friend. Explain this."

Annabeth was bewildered. "She's not my friend." She was, but how could Percy possibly know that? He was good, she knew, but not _that_ good.

"Well. Her brother's your friend, so I can only assume she is as well."

"Her brother?"

Percy turned to look at her finally, but she didn't recognize him, not like this. Not with this cold look in his eyes that was so unfamiliar, so painful. "Jason Grace."

Annabeth opened her mouth, hoping some fantastic lie would fall out, but nothing came. And then she realized, for once, she didn't even have anything to lie about. Thalia was her best friend's sister? No wonder she had seemed so familiar! The eyes, the fucking, lightning blue eyes!

" _What?!"_ she hissed, her grey eyes wide. But before she could protest that she didn't know they were siblings- something that Percy had seemed to realize by her reaction- Drew interrupted.

Drew gasped and turned her wrath on the blonde. "You brought her here!" she screeched, jumping at her. "You did this?!"

"I did n-nothing," she stammered, feeling all the eyes in the room on her. Malcolm didn't look at her. He knew where her alliance stood and he would not display her guilt for all to see.

Luke took a step toward the cell, looking at their friends like it was the first time he had ever seen them. He gestured to their plain, grey uniforms. "They seem to be only servants."

"I'd say the same, except we found them trying to escape through a drainpipe," Percy snapped. "Took us a while to drag them out."

"Is this all of them?" King Frederick said, peering through the cell bars.

Percy shook his head. "There were more ahead, but they got the river. How many, I don't know."

"Well, let's find out," King Poseidon said, his eyebrows raised. "Call for the Inquisitor. And in the meantime…" he faced the other King. Beneath his beard, he grinned a little and nodded.

Annabeth didn't have to ask to know what they were thinking about. Torture.

The four prisoners stood strong, not even flinching. Luke's jaw worked furiously as he tried to think a way out of this, but he knew there wasn't one. If anything, this might have been more than they could have hoped for. If the Amazons managed to lie. But how could Annabeth ask them to? How could they watch them scream while they stood tall?

Thalia seemed to have an answer for her. Even in this awful place, her blue eyes managed to shine. _I will lie for you._ Annabeth briefly wondered if she knew Jason was her bodyguard all along. If Jason had known his sister was part of the Amazons. If they knew each other were alive.

"Percy, I leave the honor to you," the King said, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. Annabeth could only stare, pleading with wide eyes, praying Percy would not do as his father asked.

He glanced at her once, like somehow that counted as an apology. Then he turned to a guard.

"Yew."

What that meant, Annabeth had no idea, but Drew giggled. "Good choice."

"You don't need to see this," Luke muttered, trying to pull her away. But she couldn't leave Thalia. Not now. She angrily shrugged him off, her eyes still on her best friend's sister.

"Let her stay," Drew crowed, taking pleasure in the blonde's discomfort. "This will teach her to treat Amazons as friends." She turned back to the cell, gesturing for a guard to open the bars. With one white finger, she pointed. "Start with her. She needs to be broken."

The guard nodded and seized Reyna by the wrist, pulling her out of the cell. The bars slid back into place behind her, trapping the rest in. Thalia and then other girl rushed to the bars, both of them the picture of fear.

The guard forced Reyna to her knees, waiting for her next order. "Sir?" Percy and Malcolm traded glances, but Malcolm shook his head, walking out of the room. Annabeth could only assume he was going to see what other damage was down in the ballroom. Probably count the dead, see how many were injured. And inspect the bomb, of course. Just because he knew his sister was a traitor did not mean he would become one, Annabeth knew. Malcolm was too strong.

Pery moved to stand over Reyna, breathing heavily. He hesitated before speaking, but his voice was strong. "How many more of you are there?" Reyna's jaw locked in place, her teeth together. She would die before she talked.

"Start with the arm."

The guard was not gentle, digging their fingers into the wound and pulling. The blood came faster now and Annabeth's lips parted, horrified. Reyna yelped in pain but still said nothing. It took everything Annabeth had not to strike the guard.

"And you call us the savages," the other girl spit, forehead against the bars.

Slowly, the guard peeled away Reyna's blood-soaked sleeve and set pale, cruel hands to her skin. Reyna screamed at the touch.

"Where are the others?" Percy questioned, kneeling to look her in the eyes. For a moment she fell quiet, drawing a ragged breath. He leaned in, patiently waiting for her to break.

Instead, Reyna snapped forward, head butting him with all her strength. "We are everywhere." She laughed, but screamed again as the guard resumed her torture.

Percy recovered neatly, one hand to his now broken nose. Another person might have struck back, but he didn't.

"That's a lot of blood," she whispered, unable to look back. Luke only nodded, his eyes grave and full of sorrow.

Behind them, the guard continued to work, moving up Reyna's arm. Reyna's breath whistled through gritted teeth. Still she said nothing. Annabeth's hard raced as the seconds ticked by, wondering when the Queen would return, wondering if this play would truly be over soon.

Finally, Percy jumped to his feet. "Enough."

Will Solace dropped down next to Reyna. He was expressionless, but Annabeth suspected he pitied Reyna. Will had always had a big heart. She all but collapsed, staring blankly at her arm, now jagged with knives of frozen blood. He healed her quickly, hands moving in a practiced fashion.

Reyna chuckled darkly as the warmth returned to her arm "All to do it again, huh?"

Percy folded his arms behind his back. He shared a glance with his father, who nodded. "Indeed," Percy sighed. But he didn't get a chance to continue.

"WHERE IS SHE?" a terrible voice screamed, echoing down the stairs to us below.

Aphrodite whirled at the noise, rushing to the bottom of the stairs. "I'm here!" she shouted back.

When King Tristan stepped down the embrace his wife, Annabeth had to dig her nails into her palm to keep from reacting. There he stood, alive and breathing and terribly angry. On the floor, Reyna cursed to herself. He only lingered for a moment and sidestepped Aphrodite, a terrifying fury in his eyes. His armored suit was mangled at the shoulder, pulverized by a bullet. But the skin beneath was unbroken. Healed. He prowled toward the cell, hands flexing.

"King Tristan, not yet-," growled Percy, grabbing for him, but Tristan shoved the Prince off. Despite Percy's strength and size, he stumbled backwards. Drew ran at her father, pulling his hand.

"No, we need them to talk!" With one shrug of his arm he broke her grip- not even she could stop him

Not even the guards could stop him as he strode forward, moving quickly with practiced motions. The Reyna-like girl and Thalia scrambled, jumping back against the stone walls, but Tristan was a predator, and predators attacked the weak. With her leg shot and wrist dislocated, the unnamed girl on the floor didn't stand a chance.

"You will not threaten my wife again," Tristan roared, spearing right through her chest. She gasped, choking in her own blood, dying. And Tristan actually smiled.

When he turned on Thalia, murder in his heart, Annabeth snapped.

Fire burned under her skin. When her arm closed around Tristan's muscled neck, she squeezed hard. He seized under her touch and opened his mouth wide, but nothing came out. And then he dropped to the concrete floor, his body motionless.

"Daddy!" Drew scrambled to his side, reaching for his face. He didn't move. Aphrodite dropped to his side as well, caressing his face. Drew rounded on Annabeth in a blaze of anger. "How dare you-!"

"He'll be fine." She didn't choke enough to do any real damage. Just put him to sleep for a little bit. "Like you said, we need them to talk. They can't do that if they're dead."

The others stared at her with a strange mix of emotions, their eyes wide- and afraid. Percy, the boy she kissed, the soldier, the brute, couldn't hold her gaze at all. She recognized the expression in his face: shame. But because he hurt Reyna, or because he couldn't make her talk, she didn't know. At least Luke had the good sense to look sad, his stare resting on the girl's still bleeding body.

"The Inquisitor can attend to the prisoners later," he said, addressing his father and Annabeth's. "But the people upstairs want to see their Kings and know they are safe. So many have died. You should comfort them, Father, and you, King Frederick. And you as well, Percy, alongside Malcolm and Nico."

He was playing for time. Brilliant Luke was trying to buy them a chance.

Even though it made her skin crawl, Annabeth reached out to touch Percy's shoulder. He kissed her once. He might have still listened when she spoke. "He's right, Percy. This can wait."

Still on the floor, Drew bared her teeth. "The court will want answers, not embraces! Your Majesty, rip the truth from them-"

But even Poseidon saw the wisdom of Luke's words. "They will keep," he echoed.

"And tomorrow the truth will be known," Frederick agreed, making Annabeth's mouth taste bitter.

Annabeth's grip tightened on Percy's arm, feeling the tense muscles beneath. He relaxed into her touch, looking like a great weight had fallen off him. The guards jumped to attention and pulled Reyna back into the broken cell. Her eyes stayed on Annabeth's, wondering what the hell she had in mind. The blonde wished she knew herself.

Drew half dragged Tristan out with Aphrodite's help, letting the guards take care of restoring the cell. "You are weak, my Prince," she hissed into Percy's ear. And with that, she left.


	9. Top Ten Anime Betrayals

**Annabeth**

"Chiron, Chiron!" She desperately pounded her fist against the wood.

"Princess?" her beloved professor opened the door, a book in each hand, a bewildered expression plastered on his face. He widened the door, ushering her in. "May I help you at this time of day?" he looked at her pointedly; it was past midnight and she really should not have been here. Medusa would have her head for this inappropriate behavior, but Luke had bought them time, and she had to make the best of it or she would never forgive herself. Looking at Chiron's face, she could see the small resemblance between him and his nephew, Percy, but it was so painful to witness, especially after watching the Prince mercilessly torture the Amazons- his prisoners. She hated his guts.

"I need your help," she breathed, second-guessing her decision to come here. Chiron was Percy's uncle, brother of former Queen Sally, and loyal to that one Calbourne son, and him alone.

He glanced up at her then, staring her down. He could read her like one of his books, like nobody else. He slowly frowned. "What did you do?" he was cautious.

She shook her head, ignoring his inquiry. "We need to free the Amazon prisoners."

Chiron blinked. "You mean the people behind the mass murder, a murder that took Crown Princess Bianca's life as well as many other valued members of the royal courts, including children?" His expression grew cold. "Why in Hades would you ever wish for that to happen?"

"It wasn't just them," said Annabeth quietly.

Now his eyes flashed with rare anger. "I know. The other Amazons got away, crawled out of the sewer system, and escaped."

"No," Annabeth denied him. He was right of course, but that was not what she'd meant. All of a sudden it felt like there was an elephant sitting on her chest, compressing her lungs, threatening to choke her.

"What are you not telling me?" Chiron demanded, setting down his books. The binding was coming apart on a deep red one, one that she could tell had been loved for many years.

"I was part of it," she whispered, so quiet he barely heard her, but when he did, she immediately regretted it. His face twisted angrily, and he stood up, slamming his palm into his desk.

"I warned you! I told you not to get in over your head!" he lectured. Annabeth flinched in shame. She had disappointed him, she had let him down so bad, but still within her, deep down inside of her, she couldn't find an ounce of regret for joining the Amazons. It was where she was meant to be, she knew. She had never belonged before, not before this. This was her cause, her reason for living, her reason for breathing, her reason for existence. She was _born_ to do this, to lead this revolution side by side with Reyna, to be their golden mockingbird, their symbol of hope in the darkest of times. And she would not go back on it, not for all the love in the world.

"And now, for your foolishness, I have to watch my favorite student be sentenced to death!"

Annabeth clasped her hands together tightly and had the good sense to stare at her feet, at the stone cold ground. Her grip tightened at the thought of Bianca, another one dead because of _her._ She'd thought she'd be okay with this, thought she was prepared. But when you're staring death in the face, his cold beady eyes reflecting a picture of _you_ and only you, nothing, _nothing_ could prepare you for that. Not years of sneaking around the slums, not sparring for pride, not for kills in an arena with Instructor Zeus breathing down your neck, not arguing over arbitrary positions on the royal council. Not a single thing would wash the memory of Bianca out of her brain and give her peace.

"I'm sorry," she whispered after a moment of silence. He ignored it.

"What do you want me to do, Annabeth? You want me to distract the guards so you can sneak in and help your friends escape?" He shook his head at her, no longer angry, just… sad. Somehow she thought that was a whole lot worse.

"You said you wanted change," she looked up at him, ashamed to be scolded, angry that Chiron was, in many ways, right, angry that he _couldn't_ take her side.

"Not murder, Princess. You've always been smart. You know the difference between right and wrong." He sat back down, quiet now, like her.

"I was wondering if you still had the spare keys to the prison." Chiron had kept his old science experiments in a few of the cells (they were prone to exploding at spontaneous times) and so her father, King Frederick, had given him a spare set of keys to all the locks.

"Yes." He didn't make a move to give it to her.

"May I have it?"

"To free the Amazons?" He sighed.

"Yes, sir. Please. Nobody will know you helped me, I promise."

"Of course they will, Annabeth. Of course they probably already know." He shook his head, murmuring something under his breath that she couldn't quite make out. She wondered if he regretted teaching her ever, if moments like these made him wonder if he'd even ever known her at all. Chiron unlocked a drawing in his desk, fishing around for the jangling set. The keys were looped neatly on a silver ring. "Here."

"Thank you, Chiron. And I'm- I'm sorry."

"Shut the door on your way out, child." He was quiet, but stern.

Annabeth bit her lip, nodding and doing as she was told. Once in the hallway, she tucked the keys in her skirt, where nobody could see. She closed her eyes for a moment, praying she was making the right decision. She absentmindedly wondered if Chiron was praying for her too, or if he was praying for his nephew, or if he was praying for them both, together.

Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the hallways, down the slippery stone steps, making her way to the cellars. There was no going back now; she already had too much blood on her hands to turn it around. And she didn't think the stains would ever vanish.

…

"Luke," she reached out for him, deliberately making a big display of affection and hugging him in front of the guards guarding the Amazon cell. She could practically feel Reyna rolling her eyes in her prison and Thalia smirking. Luke's eyes glinted with understanding, cleanly sweeping the keys out of her hand as she pressed it into the warmth of his palm. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, quiet enough that nobody else could hear. Like he'd promised, he was here and ready to help her bust their friends out. He offered a small nod.

To the guards, "may we have a private moment with these filthy beasts?" she swallowed, pointing to the Amazons behind bars. The guards shared a look.

"We're not supposed to leave them unattended, Princess," one said stubbornly. Her eyes flashed angrily, but before she could speak out, Luke placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Whose orders are those?" Luke asked carefully, challenging them with his voice alone.

"Your brother's," one guard piped up.

Luke shook his head. "She's the Princess of Epresh. Her orders go before his."

One guard seemed doubtful. "Prince, with all due respect, your brother is a war hero and figuratively, a military king. We cannot go back on his orders. It is our duty."

Luke's jaw tightened. "But which castle are you in?"

"The Castle of House Ashington," the other guard acknowledged.

"Just as I thought. I wouldn't want to be mistaken," Luke said darkly. "So when in this castle, House Ashington precedes all others. She is the Princess of House Ashington, equal to any Prince, and preceding a House Calbourne Prince when in her own home. You will do as she says."

One guard slowly nodded, convinced by his logic. "Very well, sir. My mistake. My sincerest apologies, Prince," he bowed low to the ground for her. The other guard followed in suit and together they marched out of the cellar, offering them privacy. Luke followed after them, making sure that they didn't get back before Annabeth was done.

Once alone, Annabeth spun on her heels, making quick work of the lock. Reyna, Thalia, and the Reyna-like girl filed out silently. Zoe's bloody body had left only a stain on the ground and she was nowhere to be seen. Annabeth could only assume that servants had been ordered to properly dispose of her after King Tristan ended the Amazon's life. The blonde swallowed thickly at the thought. But before she could let Reyna and the others go, she had one thought nagging her in the back of her mind.

"The bomb," she hissed, spinning to face Reyna, her expression angry.

"I didn't know about it," Reyna revealed, shocking Annabeth.

"It wasn't us," the third, unfamiliar girl affirmed. Reyna glanced at the third girl, then at Annabeth.

"Annabeth, this is General Hylla. She's the General of another squad, but her squad was brought in for reinforcements for this mission."

Annabeth dipped her head in acknowledgement. "And," Reyna continued. "She's my sister." Hylla grinned, proud. Annabeth had known there was something similar about both girls.

"The bomb killed nearly a dozen," Annabeth frowned, wringing her hands.

"It wasn't the plan," Thalia shook her head. Then, as if another thought suddenly occurred to her… "is… is Jason okay?" Annabeth swallowed, still unfamiliar with Thalia's sibling relationship with her best friend/bodyguard.

"Yes," Annabeth assured her. "Not even a scrape."

"Thank god," Thalia muttered.

"So you'll find out what was behind the bomb?" Annabeth pressed, still not letting it go. Not quite yet. It was the bomb that ended Bianca's life, after all.

"Of course," Hylla promised her.

"We'll be in touch," Reyna promised. "Good work, Annabeth," she offered a rare smile, one that Annabeth managed to return, despite all the loss, all the hurt.

"Safe journey," Annabeth bid them goodbye, not before taking one of Hylla's daggers. That was the plan, after all. As soon as the Amazons were out of earshot, safe from the wrath of the royals, she screamed bloody murder and slashing the dagger against her arm. Blood flowed freely from the wound, and the dagger dropped to the ground. She gritted her teeth in pain.

Sure enough, the guards filed in, alarmed to see the prison unlocked and the Princess on the ground, bloody. They raised a gun to shoot, halting only when they realized it was just the Princess. "They- they," she choked, feigning surprise and betrayal. Luke ran to her side, hiding the keys in his heavy royal uniform and feigning concern and surprise. Though he did seem a bit too concerned about the cut for it to be entirely fake. Annabeth supposed she had cut a bit too deep. The guards' barrels facing against her frightened her. She hadn't expected them to be about to shoot. Imagine if they hadn't realized it was her and shot. She shuddered. In her sudden, unexpected fear, she forgot the blade entirely, not taking the weapon of her lies with her.

"Princess!" Luke exclaimed, helping her up. "I'm taking her to the infirmary. Alert my brother and my father, as well as King Frederick," he barked out orders, his eyes cold and unyielding. He ushered Annabeth out of the cell, sealing the success of the Amazon escape, and leading her up the stairway. And once they were out of eyesight, only then did he squeeze her hand with pride, silently assuring her. The Princess let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding in.

"Let's go see what Will can do," Luke suggested, applying the necessary pressure to the wound and staining his hands with her blood.

"They didn't know about the bomb," she whispered as they walked.

Luke frowned. "What happened, then?"

"I imagine Percy's squad probably caused the bomb while trying to catch the Amazons," she guessed. It sounded reasonable enough.

"I suppose," Luke still frowned as he gently guided her with her elbow around the corridors. "Are you okay?" he glanced at her cut then. "You cut awfully deep."

"A mistake," she shrugged, half-smiling. But it felt pained, forced. With this sword hanging over her, this guilt of those she'd killed, not much could make her feel better.

"We'll get you fixed up," the Prince promised, holding her close and protectively. She nodded, allowing him to guide her to the castle healer. Will had always been good at what he did.

* * *

**Nico**

In the stories, death was beautiful. Death had a pale face and a bittersweet smile. Death collected the loved ones and the living gushed about how beautiful they looked as they floated away to the heavens, their eyes closed and a serene expression on their face, like dolls, like if they held their breath and pretended for a moment, it was almost easy to believe that their angel was just sleeping.

But it didn't matter what they said. Because they weren't sleeping, because if they begged for them to wake up, they never would. Nothing could change that.

In the stories, death was beautiful. In real life, death came too early for those who didn't deserve it, and it hurt something fierce because goodbyes always hurt the most when the story was not finished. How was it that Nico had never seen her wings while she had still been here? And now it was all too late, for him, for everyone else. And it didn't matter how fast he tried to run, he would never be going fast enough, not enough, never enough, and he would never catch up to her. Missed but not lost, and left behind.

To Nico, crying was a way eyes spoke when mouths could not explain how broken the heart was. But deep inside him, he could not even find it in him to cry. With every second, all he could feel was this emptiness where _she_ was supposed to be, this silence that she would have filled, that now just remained a gaping hole in his heart and his world. And now, there was nowhere to go but way down.

When a child lost their parents, they were named an orphan. But there were no words for losing for a sibling and Nico imagined it was because there was nothing truly like it, nothing that matched in the deep roots that were cut, in two minds being pried apart, one to go to wherever one went after death, and one doomed to spend the rest of its life on Earth, in reality, and alone.

In the stories, death was beautiful. It was an intricately woven promise of forgiveness, of relief, of something no mortal brain could comprehend. It was the remedy to everything, it was a beautiful lie. In reality, it was nothing more than a painful truth. And as Nico broke into his hands, the reminder of the scarlet blood slick on her face, her brown eyes wide open and empty, a fearful expression forever etched into Bianca's face, he realized that it was much easier said than done, that he could not stand and deal here, not now, not ever.

Bianca had always loved fairy tales. She'd been in love with this idea of happy endings. She was holding out for one of her own. Nico had once told her it was a delusional dream, that she was ridiculous, though he hadn't said that unkindly, though he hadn't said so with any trace of malice. She'd rolled her eyes at him. _Pessimist_ , she'd grinned. He'd shook his head, smiling a tiny smile that he knew he only ever reserved for her. _Realist,_ he'd mouthed, and she'd ruffled his hair way in that way that he'd always refused to admit secretly liking.

Nico didn't know about anyone else, but he was about ready for that fairy tale ending. _Anytime now._ But deep down, his realist side would not let him hope for a miracle, for lighter days. Because deep down, he knew this changed nothing, and it changed everything, and that fairy tales were just as real as they'd been when she was alive.

The young boy crumpled to the ground, his crown too large when he felt real small like this, when he acted much older than he actually was because despite his years, his life had always been much longer than anyone else's and it always would be.

It hurt, it fucking hurt so bad: that miracle was never coming.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"How are you feeling?" Luke inquired, walking back into the infirmary. He stood awkwardly at her bedside.

"Better," she assured him, flexing her bandaged arm for proof. "See," she smiled, but not without fatigue. "How'd it go for you?" she lowered her voice. Luke had gone to wipe the security cameras, covering the last of their tracks.

"Without a hitch," he confirmed. She smiled wider at that. "They did find a dagger in there though. Strange. The Amazons didn't peg me as the type to leave their weapons around, not even in escape. It's fine. It looks like Hylla's by the looks of it. I bet they'll just run some tests on it in the lab to confirm it's hers. Their fingerprint technology is excellent, so I'm not too worried. Once they see her fingerprints, they'll know it was hers. It had blood on it too, so that'll get scanned too." He shrugged.

However, Annabeth went pale all of a sudden. The dagger! In her rush to put distance between her and the guards, she'd forgotten the dagger! It had her blood, which was fine, the royals knew she'd been stabbed in their escape, but it the fingerprint scanner… Shit.

Her fingerprint. They had her fingerprint.

"And they- they can figure out whose fingerprint it is, just like that?"

"It takes some time, a week or so, but yes, that's how it's supposed to work." His eyes fell to her shaking hands, and he covered them with his own, letting warmth bleed into her suddenly cold skin.

"Annabeth?"

"That was the dagger," she whispered. "The one I used to cut myself. I was going to take the blade with me, but the guards… It's my fingerprint they found."

And then his hands were just as cold as hers.

For all his clever ideas, Luke had nothing to say to this. He just stared, his breath coming in tiny, scared puffs. She knew the look on his face; she wore it every time she was forced to say goodbye to someone.

"It's too bad. I would have liked to die in battle, on my feet like all my favorite literary heroines," Annabeth murmured.

Another breeze from the open window sent a curtain of her hair across her face, but Luke brushed it away and pulled her close with startling ferocity.

Annabeth was taken aback, his lips hot against hers. She didn't draw away, stunned, but she didn't exactly kiss back either- not that he showed any sign of disappointment. Luke's kiss was very different from his brother's. While Percy's was intoxicating, yet controlled, drowning her senses in him, Luke was fierce, angry, and burning hot. His was like he was losing control, like he was already lost, already gone… gone in her.

When he pulled away, his blue eyes were hard and fiery. Only then Annabeth remembered how hot blue fire burned. He was angry, but not at her, _for_ her. Something inside her melted.

"I won't let you die," he promised, and for a moment, Annabeth wanted nothing more than to believe him. At her unsure expression, he grit his teeth, squeezing her hand tightly in his.

"I swear it."

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Did you get it too?" she breathed, outstretching her hand to place her palm on his forearm. She'd never been the touchy-feely type, but this physical contact, it helped her cope, it made Bianca's death seem more real, made _all_ of this feel more real. In some ways, it was comforting.

"They've agreed," Luke nodded, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

"Did you think they wouldn't?" Annabeth inquired, pursing her lips. She'd never really asked Luke what he thought of the Amazons, now come to think of it.

"Of course they would," he was confident. "How could we afford to pass up the opportunity to end this entire war? Reyna's not a fool."

Annabeth worried her bottom lip. "I know, but… it's just that this could go so very wrong, so very easily. And we could be executed if caught, for treason."

"We're traitors either way. At least this way we can make an escape and bring down part of the monarchy in the process," the Prince reasoned. "And that won't happen. I promised, didn't I?"

Annabeth was immediately brought back to the night before, of his lips on hers, of his warm hands squeezing hers- physical pressure to alleviate the emotional pain. _I won't let you die. I swear it._ She managed a poker face, praying that she wasn't flushing pink. "So you're a man of your word?" she tried to lighten the mood.

"You could say that." A muscle in his cheek twitched and he glanced the other away, making sure they were alone. "So tonight. You've got this?"

She nodded, exhaling shakily. "I've got this." He didn't ask if she was sure, if she needed a moment to breathe. If she said she had this, she had it, and he believed her. It was just one of the many things she deeply respected about him.

"If we do this right, if we hit the royals at their heart and execute this properly, we kill the heart of the war. And if he falls, the war ends. We can't afford any errors. Proceed with caution, Annabeth." He frowned.

It was a lot of pressure. She was the distraction… of Perseus, of course. Fuck. "What if he doesn't pay attention?" she voiced her concerns, her forehead creasing with worry. How could she keep his attention while the Amazons captured King Poseidon, forcing him to his knees? She had to give them enough time, she just _had_ to.

"You'll make him," Luke assured her.

She shook her head, gnawing on her lips once more. "But what if?" She knew 'what if' was an endless game, and it was very unproductive. What if aliens landed and captured her, keeping her tragically apart from the Amazons? What if Percy was actually a werewolf all along and he wanted to sacrifice her blood to his pack in a Satanic ritual? What if Queen Medusa was an evil tooth fairy, hiding in plain sight and biding her time before leaving nothing but pink gums in Annabeth's pretty smile? Some things, Annabeth had decided a long time ago, were too unlikely to dwell upon. Still, even if only for a moment, she allowed herself to entertain the thought of her failure.

"He won't. You're too good."

"How do you know that?" she demanded, too concerned to feel bashful under his praise.

"Perseus likes to believe the best of people," Luke shrugged.

"But he's a military hero," she pointed out. "He's not stupid." She paused. "Unfortunately," Annabeth quietly whispered under her breath.

Luke grinned at her small jab at his older brother. "No one could tear their eyes away from you. You have a way of drawing… er… attention to yourself."

Annabeth glared, crossing her arms over her chest, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She just knew he was referring to her infamous outburst at the royal council meeting, the one that Percy had dragged her away from before he… best not dwell upon that. "And I thought you were a gentleman," she teased. He flashed a charming, yet sheepish smile at her.

"Besides, even if you're perfectly pleasant, he'll still pay attention to you. He always would."

Annabeth scoffed. "Oh, yeah?"

"Of course," Luke cleared his voice, devoid of all amusement now. "He likes you."

At that, Annabeth choked, coughing inelegantly. How did he know?! Then, of course, once she'd stopped hacking like a cat spitting up a furball, she regained her wit, realizing that Luke probably didn't know about that sinful kiss, it was merely a conjecture. "Excuse me?" she coughed, fanning her face in hopes that it would somehow lessen her choking fit.

Luke frowned. "He makes googly eyes at you all the time. It's disgusting." He stared as she choked some more. "You really haven't noticed?"

"Not really," she let out a sigh of relief, grateful that she wasn't dying anymore. She stood up straight, trying to regain her composure. "So you're telling me that this entire plan rides on Percy's so-called affection for me?" Annabeth blanched. In that case, she was so, so screwed. He'd probably forgotten all about her already. "You seriously think he wouldn't notice his world burning around him just because I'm standing in front of him, just to talk with me? I can't possibly believe that."

"I can," he glanced at her once more, a look full of meaning and emotion. She swallowed hard.

"Because?" she dared ask, but her voice was awfully small now. She already knew the answer, and she wasn't sure what to do with it. It was too raw, too deep, too real, too intimate.

"Because I would do the same."

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth didn't dress up for anyone but herself, but if what her betrothed said was true (and based off the way the Crown Prince kissed her, she was sure Luke was right), then she might as well have made the best of it, using it to her advantage. It wasn't fair to manipulate people's emotions like this, she knew that too. But she wasn't about to let Reyna's entire squad get massacred because she didn't want to hurt Percy's _feelings._ He was a royal, a soon-to-be-ruler at that. She should've hated him. Fuck him. With that questionable moral statement in mind, Annabeth held her head high, allowing her handmaidens' work to its job.

That night she wore a royal blue ball gown- a nod towards her tie with Luke- but more importantly, a carefully planned strategy for her encounter with Percy. After all, blue was one of his colors too.

Across the ballroom, Luke peered at her, hoping to gain her attention. Lucky for him, her eyes had been trained on him all night, waiting with anticipation for the cue. She'd only looked away once- once to hear Malcolm's speech about Bianca- a tear jerking speech. Annabeth's throat had constricted seeing what nobody else say that Malcolm was on the edge of losing it, that he wasn't ready, that he was grieving something fierce, that he hadn't even really known her, but like Annabeth, they loved the Pevanshire children. He had not spoken to her since Bianca's death, surely blaming her and the Amazons for her death. If only he knew how true that statement was.

Now, Lukee took a sip from his glass, tapping it with his pointer finger twice. He looked away before she could say anything, and taking a deep breath, she did as she was supposed to. Because he'd tapped it twice, that meant Percy was no longer in the ballroom. And that was a good thing- it'd be easier to keep him at bay this way, but it did nothing to mute her fears. She set her glass down on a passing server's tray and stepped out into the stone corridors. It was a bit chilly and for a moment, she regretted everything. Regretted joining the Amazons, regretted turning her back on her brother by forming a new alliance, regretted not indulging in her childhood while she'd still had it, regretted everything bad she'd ever done up until that very moment. And then she saw him, his dark hair blending in with the stone walls. He was speaking with a guard, no doubt verifying the security. Ever since the bomb, everyone had been on the edge of their seat. The only reason so many royals had attended this ball was because King Frederick was supposed to issue a statement against the Amazons, a declaration of war. Annabeth's breath hitched as Percy turned the corner, surely heading back to the ball. When he took another path, she frowned. She could not lose him, not now. Hiking up her skirt, she padded softly behind him.

After following him for several minutes, he stopped at a balcony overlooking a beautiful view of the castle garden. The moon reflected it's silky cream in the pond below. And then-

"I can hear you, you know," he said, and her blood froze. Percy turned around to face her, and his face was impassive. "You don't do subtle, do you?"

She frowned. "I thought I was doing pretty good." _You have a way of drawing… er… attention to yourself_ , Luke's words echoed in her mind. Well, maybe not after all.

He scoffed. "Hardly. In that bright blue dress? Good one," he turned back to the view, gazing across the plants steadily.

She huffed. "If you really knew, then why didn't you stop me earlier?" she challenged him. He felt very movie-esque to her, enough that it was almost funny.

Percy shrugged. "I wanted to see how far you'd follow me. Curiosity." He stared off into the distance thoughtfully as guards passed by. Annabeth couldn't resist the urge to roll her eyes. Crossing her arms over her chest, she snorted.

"Please do try to look _more_ conspicuous, Your Highness," she mocked. As soon as they were alone once more, Percy shot her a dirty look, much to her amusement. But despite him feigning irritation, Percy could not keep the little smile on his face at bay.

"You're unbelievably irritating, you know that?" he shook his head at her.

She beamed. "I know. I know everything."

"And modest too."

At that, she laughed, and he reflected her amusement with a signature, crooked smile. One that had been ridiculously annoying at first and had slowly grown on her as one of his many endearing traits.

However, her laughter died down as she remembered what she was doing there. Quietly, Annabeth realized the Amazons would be beginning the operation now. She tried to keep her head screwed on right. She was vital to the success and she had to keep her facade up. Except… except maybe it wasn't all a facade. Maybe she liked bickering with him and though a part of her despised him for the way he believed the war needed to continue in order to avoid the fall of both genders, statuses (and she knew he would think the royals to always be in the right; it was just how he'd been raised), there was a part of her that also remembered how kind he'd been to her and the various ways he'd shown her he cared about her. It was at that moment she realized her act was not entirely false, and it was a crushing blow. Annabeth sucked in a deep breath, leaning on the balcony for support. _It was not entirely false._ And fuck because it wasn't supposed to work like that.

"Are you okay?" his voice cut through her revelation.

"Fine," she wheezed, half-wincing as her skin brushed against the cold stone.

"People aren't usually fine when they're draped all over a building like a pathetic noodle."

She blinked. "You're such an asshole."

He didn't flinch at her vulgar language. "Maybe," he smirked, but his eyes revealed his worry all too easily. He looked like he had before she'd passed out in his arms- much to her annoyance, of course (way to look like a damsel in distress; nice going Annabeth). He'd begged her not to black out, still soaked in Bianca's blood. The image of his pleading almost haunted her more than Bianca's corpse. It had been so… wrong, there was no other way to describe it. He was too strong to fall to his knees and plead, and yet, he would do that later that night if all went well with the Amazons. Annabeth tried not to think about it too much.

She stood up instead, not allowing her moment of weakness to brand her. Gingerly, the blonde brushed off the blue dress. His sea green eyes traveled down the silk, but it wasn't subtle. She suspected he wasn't trying to be subtle at all, actually.

"I like your dress," he added, casually, almost as if it were an afterthought. His gaze softened when he met her eyes, if only for a moment. "Blue suits you." And then he looked back out at the garden.

"I wonder how white would fare," she brought up the other Calbourne color and looked off into the distance just like him.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "I'm not a fashion designer."

She eyed his royal uniform and feigned disdain. In all honesty, he seemed very Kingly, but she would rather die before she admitted it. "Believe me, I know."

He cracked a smile at no one in particular. "And you say _I'm_ the asshole," he gently teased. Their peaceful silence was met with a loud bang and Annabeth flinched in surprise. No doubt the Amazons had the King on the floor. Perhaps they would take her own father down as well. An image of Frederick swam in her mind, but Annabeth could not find a hint of remorse in her. Her father had never really been a father, not to her, not to Malcolm.

Immediately, Percy was on alert, his hand snapping to the hilt of his sword. "What the hell?" He spun around, facing the balcony doors behind them. A man cried out behind them and Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut. She had to keep him away. Percy was about to race off the balcony to trace the sound, but hesitated for a moment when he glanced at her. For a wonderful moment, Annabeth wondered if he would just stay here to 'keep her poor self company.' He was a soldier first, but a gentleman all the same. As strong as she was, he knew it was duty to protect his people and the royals, and that included her. However, she should've known better.

"Well, don't just stand there," and with an iron grip, he pulled her after him, protecting her just like she figured he would, but in an unorthodox way. Annabeth's eyes were wide with surprise, allowing the Prince to lead her down the hallway, her struggling to keep up with his quick sprint. Her heels were not designed for running like a lunatic.

"Slow down!" she pleaded, and not just to keep him away from the commotion anymore. Her feet were killing her. Percy looked at her like she was crazy. Or stupid. Or both.

"I'm pretty sure a man just died and we're on the brink of attack by some unnamed hooligans, and you're telling me to _slow down?!"_ he ran faster, taking her by the elbow since she had more leverage when he held only her hand.

"I'm wearing heels!" she protested. "Excuse me for not being in a full military outfit. If you haven't noticed, that's not typically appropriate for a lady!" she snipped at him as they sprinted together.

He had the audacity to roll his eyes as they ran. "Want me to carry you?" said Percy sarcastically. She glared at him.

"I'm not a damsel in distress," she snapped.

"Then don't act like one," he shot back and she was taken aback. He had some nerve and why, oh why did she find that so attractive? Fucking stupid Prince, getting in her head, taking up all her thinking space. She stumbled as he stopped suddenly, standing over the dead body. Annabeth had the good sense to keep quiet, averting her gaze at the killed guards. There were golden arrows wrenched in their bodies and they were bleeding, their blood pooling together.

Percy cursed, spotting the golden glitter spilled all over the place. The Amazons had always had a weird sense of humor and a flair for dramatics. " _Amazons_ ," he growled, swiftly unsheathing his sword. Remembering all too well what he was capable of, Annabeth took a cautionary, hasty step back. The blade glowed under the wall torches, dangerous, but it was not as sharp as the look in his eyes.

He reached for his belt, probably about to produce another blade for Annabeth. A thick rope of golden curls, meticulously woven into a braid, ran down her back, gliding over the blue silk of her dress. She had known there would be a fight and so she'd prepared as best she could. Though she had indeed forgotten about her shoes. But she would never forget her weaponry, not even if it was inappropriate for a lady like her to carry one around.

"Don't bother," she held up a hand. Reaching for the fabric of her gown, Annabeth pursed her lips, bunching up the cloth in front of her, wrapping it and tying it around her front. If she was going to fight, she didn't need to be tripping all over her fabric. She reached for her silver snake bracelet, complete with rubies for eyes, and unsheathed a concealed rapier dagger, hidden in the jewelry. The red gems winked up at her and the sharp tip glinted wickedly.

"Your own dagger?" Percy could not hide his surprise. He glanced at the dagger in her hand with appreciation. "Celestial bronze," he nodded, recognizing the lethal metal immediately. "You never fail to surprise," he looked up at her, tilting his head to the side.

"We aim to please," she nodded in return.

"And the shoes?" he pointed. "I'm not slowing down for you again, and I'd rather not babysit you to make sure you don't tragically trip and fall on your own blade." He grinned, but it was cold. Annabeth kicked them off.

"What shoes?"

His grin widened. "I knew I always liked you." He peered down the dark hallway and narrowed his eyes. "Now. Let's go kick some Amazon ass."

Annabeth swallowed thickly, both at his words (he certainly didn't act like he liked her, not in her opinion anyways), and at the mention of the Amazons. "Sure," was all she said, and raced after him into the dark, praying that she would not have to fight him. With his bold words and natural kindness, she wasn't sure she'd be able to even lift a blade in his direction, much less end him in cold blood. She hurried to keep up.

…

Percy burst into the ballroom, the blonde on his heels. In all honesty, Annabeth had done pretty good with time. Reyna, her face covered with a golden bandana, had already caused many deaths. Some royals glanced over at Percy's dramatic entrance. Some of them glanced at Annabeth, her feet bare and a dagger in her hand. She supposed she looked shocking too.

Percy was pale at the sight of royals battling for their lives, fighting desperately against golden warriors.

"Perfect!" Thalia crowed behind Reyna, coming out from behind the commotion Though she wore a bandana as well, Annabeth recognized her by her signature blue eyes and voice. Annabeth spotted Jason, pale and bruised, shocked at the presence of sister. So he had not known she was alive either. He didn't even look angry that she was an Amazon, just ghosted by her… liveliness. She suspected he had thought Thalia was dead. Thalia turned to look at Percy and Annabeth, but she didn't even spare a glance at the blonde. "The last of the royal children, just what we'd been waiting for."

Annabeth's dagger felt cold in her hand.

"Amazon scum," Percy snarled, raising his blade in a challenge. "Don't you dare touch her," he shielded Annabeth with his body, prepared for anything. The blonde could not disguise her shock. Of all things, the first thing he did was look out for _her._ Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut as Thalia laughed, throwing her head back in amusement. To her, in this very moment, it was akin to nails scraping against a chalkboard. She grinned at Annabeth, but the Princess didn't flinch.

"So loyal, little Prince," she teased, stabbing a nearby royal. They fell to the ground, the wound ending their life. Annabeth blinked. This was going to hurt him so much. _Fuck._ She regretted it all. She didn't want to do this to him. Silently she pleaded for Thalia's silence, but she knew it would not happen that way. "But rest assured, I won't hurt her. Right, Annabeth?"

Annabeth swallowed, staring at her bare feet.

"Annabeth?" Percy looked at her confusion. And then it clicked. He glared at her and she wanted nothing more than for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow her up. "You're one of them," he whispered, ripping her pride to pieces. The Kings and the royal children would have been in the throne room then. Surely the Amazons would be after them soon. But the military hadn't come in yet. The royals could still win.

Percy spun around and slammed a large, red alarm button on the side of the wall. The Amazons had sent only a small squad, and seeing the alarm go off, they began to flee. Thalia's expression darkened as red lights flashed across the room, calling for reinforcements. The military would be there soon and she had failed, she had failed, the plan had gone awry, and Percy had put two and two together, realizing that she was both with the Amazons and was partly responsible for all the deaths at the ball.

"Guards!" he called as the men filed in, ending a few Amazons in their wake. Annabeth flinched. "Kill them all, all except their General if you can find her! I don't want any fucking prisoners!" he ordered and they got to work, some of the Amazons escaping, and others falling over in front of her very eyes. It was a losing battle, and it was over now. Thalia had fled now, having tried to pull Annabeth out of the way, but the blonde was numb with Percy's disappointment. She was going to die now, die a traitor, die in front of Malcolm and her mother and _everyone_ and she didn't care so much anymore. She hoped Luke made it out okay.

"And you," he spit, pointing a finger at her. He knocked her blade out of her hands and caught it swiftly, all before she could even open her mouth. "You lied to me. You slowed me down on purpose," he shook his head at her, not quite yelling, but there was this unfamiliar pain in his eyes, the truth of her betrayal finally hitting her at full force. "And now I have to bring you in front of my father, see what he'll want to do with you." Percy didn't say anything else, for there were no words for her traitorous actions.

Annabeth slumped as he got some guards to handcuff her, linking her in this prison, this hell. Annabeth was hauled away, shoved to the throne room, the guards' hands all over her. She couldn't even feel pain anymore.

"Annabeth? Annabeth!" she recognized Luke's voice across the room. Fuck. No, he had to get away, even if she died. He _had_ to. She couldn't let him go either, not now, not here.

"Luke!" He ran towards her and she struggled against the guards to get her words out. At the sight of him, tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. "No, Luke, I messed up. You have to get out, you have to," she panicked.

"No, Annabeth! They'll kill you!" Luke protested.

"Just listen to me!" she watched in horror as he raised a blade. "No, Luke don't-"

The Prince stabbed one of the royal guards right through the heart. Percy blanched, surprised by his brother's treachery.

"You- you-" Percy sputtered. And then he noticed Luke's sword. He shut his eyes, praying for a miracle, divine intervention, strength, Annabeth didn't know what. The sword was gold.

"Lukey," Percy choked, and Annabeth had never felt more guilty in his life. "I can't-" he took a deep breath. "Guards, him too," he said it so quietly, Annabeth wasn't even sure Percy knew what to do anymore. Annabeth silently watched as Epresh's guards handcuffed Luke to her side, both of them on the path for execution.

"I'm so sorry, Luke I'm sorry," she said loudly over the commotion. He shook his head, looking at the ground. He, like her, had made his choice. And now it was time to face the consequences.

Percy looked the other direction as the guards hauled them to the throne room.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth could barely keep up the pace, but the soldier at her back, holding her shacked arms, kept shoving. Another did the same to Luke, forcing him along with her. Zeus followed them, making sure they couldn't escape. His presence was a dark weight, dulling her senses. The blonde could still see the passage around them, empty and far from the prying eyes of the court, but she didn't have the strength to care. Percy led the pack, his shoulders tense and tight as he fought the urge to look back.

The sound of gunfire and screams and blood in the tunnels rumbled in her mind. The Amazons were dead.

Her and Luke were dead. It was over.

Their footfalls didn't even echo as they entered- soundproof. No one could hear them. And that frightened her more than the guns or the fire or the pure rage rippling off the king. Absentmindedly, she wondered where Frederick was, where the other royal children were, and Malcolm, and Athena. No doubt they were dealing with the captured Amazons.

King Poseidon stood in the center of the room, dressed in his own gilded armor with the crown on his head. His ceremonial sword hung at his side. Queen Medusa was here as well, waiting for them in her royal ball gown. The moment they entered, her eyes met Annabeth's.

"Leave us," Medusa said, her voice cutting and sharp. The soldiers waited, looking to Percy. When he nodded, they took their leave, departing in a din of clicking boots. When the march of boots faded away, the King allowed himself to exhale.

"Son?" He looked at Percy, and Annabeth could see the slightest quiver in his fingers. But what he could possibly fear, she didn't know. "I want to hear this from you."

"They've been a part of this for a long time," Percy muttered, barely able to say the words. "Since she was betrothed, I imagine."

"Both?" Poseidon turned away from Percy, to his forgotten son. He looked almost sad, his face pulling into a pained frown. His eyes wavered, reluctant to hold his gaze, but Luke stared right back. He would not flinch. "You knew about this, my boy?"

Luke nodded. "I helped plan it."

Poseidon stumbled, like his words were a physical blow. "And the shooting?"

"I chose the targets." Percy squeezed his eyes shut, like he could block this all out.

Luke's eyes slid past his father, to Medusa, who stood close by. They held each other's gaze for a moment.

"You told me to find a cause, Father. And I did. Are you proud of me?"

But Poseidon rounded on the Princess instead, snarling like a bear. "You did this! You poisoned him, you poisoned my boy!" When tears sprung to his eyes, she knew the King's heart, no matter how small or cold, had been broken. He loved Luke, in his own way. But it was too late for that. "You've taken my son from me!"

"You have done that yourself," Annabeth said through gritted teeth. "Luke has his own heart, and he believes in a different world as much as I do. If anything, your son changed me."

"I don't believe you. You have tricked him somehow."

"She does not lie."

Hearing Medusa agree with her ripped her breath away.

"Our son has always thirsted for change." Her eyes lingered on her son. She sounded afraid. "He is just a boy, Poseidon."

 _Save him_ , she screamed out in her head. They had to save Luke, they had to.

Next to her, Luke sucked in a breath, waiting for what would be their doom. Poseidon looked at his feet, knowing the laws better than anyone else, but Percy was strong enough to meet his brother's gaze. Annabeth could see him remembering their life together. Flame and shadow. One could not exist without the other.

After a long moment of hot, stifling silence, the King put a hand on Percy's shoulder. His head shook back and forth, and tears tracked down his cheeks into his beard.

"A boy or not, Luke has killed. Together with this- this snake-" he pointed a shaking finger at Annabeth. "He has committed grave crimes against his own. Against me, and against you. Against our throne."

"Father-" Percy moved quickly, putting himself between the King and them. "He is your son. There must be another way."

Poseidon stilled, putting aside the father to become King again. He wiped away his tears with a brush of the hand. "When you wear my crown, you will understand."

The Queen's eyes narrowed into blue slits. Her eyes, they were the same as Luke's.

"Fortunately, that will never happen," she said plainly.

"What?" Poseidon turned to her but stopped halfway, his neck against a sword. Annabeth had seen this before. Long ago, Medusa had even blown her against the wall, turning her into a puppet, before Luke had saved her from the Queen's wrath. Again, the Queen held the strings.

"No!" he yelled as she forced him to his knees.

Percy bristled, but Medusa held a hand out, stopping him in his tracks. She had them both. Behind her, Zeus stepped forward, the one guard to never leave, the instructor of training. He pointed a sword at Percy.

Poseidon struggled, his teeth clenched, but he couldn't move an inch without his head being chopped. "Medusa. Zeus-!"

But the old instructor didn't move. Instead, he stood quietly, content to watch. It seemed his loyalties were not with the King but with the Queen. She was saving them. For her son's life, she was going to save them. Annabeth and Luke bet on Percy loving her enough to change the world; they should've looked to the Queen instead. Annabeth wanted to laugh, to smile, but something in Percy's face kept her relief at bay.

"Chiron warned me," Percy growled, still trying to break Zeus's hold. "I thought he was lying about you, about my mother, about what you did to her."

On his knees, the King howled. It was a wretched sound, one she never wanted to hear again. "Sally," he moaned, staring at the floor. "Chiron knew. Kayla knew. You punished her for the truth."

"Medusa, you have to get Luke out of here," Annabeth told her. "Don't worry about me, just keep him safe."

"Oh, don't you fret, little Annie," she sneered. "I don't think about you at all. Though your loyalty to my son is quite inspiring. Isn't it, Luke?" She tossed a glance over her shoulder to her son, still shackled. In response, his arms snapped out, pulling apart the metal shackles with shocking ease. Zeus had loosened them. When he rose to his feet, Annabeth expected him to defend her, to save her like she was trying to save him. Then she realized Zeus still had hold of her, and he was still holding her back, even though he had let Luke go.

When Percy's eyes met hers, she knew he understood much better than she did. Anyone can betray anyone echoed louder and louder, until it howled in her ears like the winds of a hurricane.

"Luke?" She had to look up to see his face, and for a second, she didn't recognize him. He was still the same boy, the one who had comforted her, kissed her, kept her strong. Her friend. More than her friend. But something was wrong with him. Something had changed. "Luke, help me up."

He rolled his shoulders, cracking the bones to chase away an ache. His motions were sluggish and strange, and when he settled back on his feet, hands on his hips, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time. His eyes were so cold.

"No, I don't think so."

"What?" She heard her voice like it was coming from someone else. She sounded like a little girl. She was just a little girl.

Luke didn't answer but held her gaze. The boy she knew was still there, hiding, flickering behind his eyes. If she could just reach him- but Luke moved faster than her, pushing her away when she reached out.

"CAPTAIN LA RUE!" Percy roared, still able to speak. Medusa had not taken that from him yet. But no one came running. No one could hear them. "NICO! MALCOLM, SOMEONE, HELP!"

Medusa was content to let him shout, enjoying the sound, but Luke flinched. "Do we have to listen to this?" he asked.

"No, I supposed we don't," she sighed, tipping her hand with the sword. Percy's body moved with her intentions, shifting to face his father.

Percy panicked, his eyes growing wide. "What are you doing?"

Beneath him, the King's face darkened. "Isn't it obvious?"

Annabeth didn't understand at all. She didn't belong here. Chiron was right. This was a game she didn't understand, a game she didn't know how to play. She wished Chiron were her now, to explain, to help, to save her. But no one was coming.

"Luke, please," she pled, trying to make him look at her. But he turned his back, focusing on his mother and his betrayed blood. He was his mother's son.

She didn't care that Annabeth spoke fondly of Luke. She didn't care that he was part of all this. She didn't even look surprised. The answer was frighteningly simple. Because she already knew. Because he was her son. Because this was her plan all along. The thought stung like knives running along skin, but the pain only made it more real.

"You used me."

Finally, Luke condescended to look back at her. "Catching on, are you?"

"You chose the targets. Duke Atlas of House Raya, General Ares of House Langen, King Minos of the Southern Isles, even King Tristan of House Raya- they weren't the Amazons' enemies, they were yours." She wanted to tear him apart. She wanted to make him hurt. She was finally learning her lesson. Anyone could betray anyone.

"And this, this was just another plot. You pushed me into this, even though it was impossible, even though you knew Percy would never betray his father! You made me believe it. You made all of us believe it."

"It's not my fault you were stupid enough to play along," he replied. "Now the Amazons are finished."

It felt like a kick in the teeth. "They were your friends. They trusted you."

"They were a threat to my kingdom," he fired back. He stooped, bending over her with a twisted smile. "Were."

Medusa laughed at his cruel joke.

"You made me believe," Annabeth whispered again, remembering every lie he had ever told her. "I thought you wanted to help us." It came out a whimper. For a split second, his pale features softened. But it didn't last.

"Foolish girl," Medusa said. "Your idiocy was almost our ruin. Leaving the blade behind with blood and everything. Do you really think I was so stupid as to miss your tracks?"

Numb, she shook her head. "You let me do it. You knew about it all."

"Of course I knew. How else do you think you came so far? I had to cover your tracks, I had to protect you from anyone with enough sense to see the signs," she snarled, growling like a beast. "You do not know the lengths I went to keep you from harm." She flushed with pleasures, enjoying every second of this. "But you a little girl, an Amazon, and like all the others, you were doomed to fail."

It broke against Annabeth, memories falling into place. She should've known, deep down, not to trust Luke. He was too perfect, too brave, too kind. He turned his back on his own to join the Amazons. He pushed her at Percy. He gave her exactly what she wanted, and it made her blind.

Wanting to scream, wanting to weep, she let her eyes trail to Medusa. "You told him exactly what to say," she whispered. Medusa didn't have to nod, but Annabeth knew she was right. "You know who I am in here, and your knew-" her head ached, remembering it all "-you knew exactly how to win me over."

Nothing had hurt more deeply than the hollow look on Luke's face.

"Was anything true?"

When he shook his head, she knew that was also a lie.

"Even Iris?" The girl who died fighting. _Her name was Iris and I saw her die._ The name punched through his mask, cracking the facade of cool indifference, but it wasn't enough. He shrugged off the name and the pain it caused him. "Another dead girl. She makes no difference."

"She makes all the difference," Annabeth whispered to herself.

"I think it's time to say your goodbyes, Luke," Medusa cut in, putting a white hand on her son's shoulder. Annabeth had struck too close to his weak spot, and she wouldn't let her push further.

"I have none," he whispered, turning back to his father. His blue eyes wavered, looking at the crown, the sword, the armor, anywhere but his father's face. "You never looked at me. You never saw me. Not when you had him." He jerked his head toward Percy.

"You know that's not true, Luke. You are my son. Nothing will change that. Not even her," Poseidon said, casting a glance at Medusa. "Not even what she's about to do."

"Dearest, I'm not doing anything," she chirped back. "But your beloved boy-" she slapped Percy across the face "- the perfect heir-" she slapped him again, harder this time "-Sally's son." Another slap drew blood, splitting his lip. "I cannot speak for him"

Thick red blood dripped down Percy's chin. Luke's eyes lingered on the blood, and the slightest frown pulled at his features.

"We had a son too, husband," Medusa whispered, her voice ragged with rage as she turned back to the King. "No matter how you felt about me, you were supposed to love him."

"I did!" he shouted, straining against her hold. "I do."

Annabeth knew what it was like to be cast aside, to stand in another's shadow. But this kind of anger, this murderous, destructive, terrible scene was beyond her comprehension. Luke loved his father, his brother- how could he let her do this? How could he want this?

But he stood still, watching, and she couldn't find the words to make him move.

Nothing prepared her for what came next, for what Medusa forced her puppets to do. She dug her sword into his back. "Do it," she demanded. "Or you die."

Percy shook his head, stubborn as ever. He would die for his father, Annabeth knew it with certainty.

"Or she dies, tortured slowly in front of you for endless hours. Or I _make_ you do it," she threatened. Percy stilled for a moment, and his hand shook, reaching forward, pushed along by her will and her threats. He would die for others, but he could not let others die for him. Stupid, stubborn soldier. Tears pricked at Annabeth's eyes. _No!_ She wished he would let her die for him, to allow her this one thing, but he would not. Percy tried to resist, struggling with every ounce of strength he had, but it was no use. This was a battle he didn't know how to fight. When his hand closed around the sword, pulling it from the sheath at his father's waist, the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place. Tears coursed down his face.

"It's not you," Poseidon said, his eyes on Percy's wretched face. He didn't bother pleading for his life. "I know it's not you, son. This is not your fault."

No one deserved this. No one. In Annabeth's head, she reached for her dagger and slashed Medusa and Luke, saving the Prince and the King. But even that fantasy was tainted. Reyna was dead. Thalia was dead. The revolution was over. In her imaginings, she could not fix that.

The sword rose in the air, shaking in Percy's trembling fingers. Luke watched the blade closely, carefully, because he was too afraid to watch his father in his last moments. _I thought you were brave. I was so wrong._

"Please," was all Percy could say, forcing the words out. "Please."

There was no regret in Medusa's eyes and no remorse. This moment had been coming for a long time. When the sword flashed, arcing through air and flesh and bone, she didn't blink.

The King's corpse landed with a thud, his head rolling to a stop a few feet away. Blood splashed across the floor in a mirrored puddle, lapping at Percy's toes. He dropped the sword, letting it clang against stone, before falling to his knees, his head in his hands. The crown clattered across the floor, circling through the blood, until it stopped to rest at Luke's feet, sharp points bright with liquid red.

When Medusa screamed, wailing and thrashing over the King's body, Annabeth almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all. Had she changed her mind? Had she lost it entirely? Then she heard the click of cameras switching on, coming back to life. They poked out of the walls, pointing straight down at the King's body and what looked like a Queen mourning her fallen husband. Luke yelled at her side, one hand on his mother's shoulder.

"You killed him! You killed the King! You killed our father!" he screamed in Percy's face. Only a hint of a smirk remained, and somehow Percy resisted the urge to rip his brother's head off. He was in shock,not understanding, not wanting to understand. But for once, Annabeth certainly did.

The truth didn't matter. It only mattered what the people believed. Chiron tried to teach her that lesson before, and now she understood it. They would believe this little scene, this pretty play of actors and lies. And no army, no country would follow a man who murdered his father for the crown.

"Run, Percy!" she screamed, trying to snap him back to life. "You have to run!"

Zeus had let her go. The cuffs fell off her wrists. She grabbed Percy's shoulders, trying to pull him up, but the big oaf didn't budge. She smacked him, just hard enough to catch his attention, before screaming again. "RUN!"

It was enough, and he struggled to his feet, almost slipping in the pool of blood.

She expected Medusa to fight her, to make her kill herself or Percy, but she continued screaming, acting for the cameras. Luke stood over her, his imperial gold sword drawn, ready to protect his mother. He didn't even try to stop them.

"There's nowhere for you to go!" he shouted, but Annabeth was already running, dragging Percy along behind her. "You are murderers, traitors, and you will face justice!"

His voice, a voice she used to know so well, seemed to chase them through the doors and down the hall. The voices in her head screamed with him. _Stupid girl. Foolish girl. Look what your hope has done._ And then it was Percy dragging her along, forcing her to keep up. Hot tears of anger and rage and sorrow drowned her eyes, until she couldn't see anything but her hand in his. Where he led, she didn't know. She could only follow.

Feet pounded behind them, the familiar sound of boots. Officers, guards, soldiers, they were all chasing, coming from them.

The floor beneath them steadily changed from the polished wood of back hallways to swirling marble- the banquet hall. Long tables set with fine china blocked the way, but Percy threw them aside with his sword. The table caught on the nearby fire, triggering an alarm system, and water rained down on them, fighting the blaze. It turned to steam, shrouding Percy in raging white cloud. He looked like a ghost, haunted by a life suddenly torn away, and she didn't know how to comfort him. Annabeth watched as Zeus tried to grab her and, watching as another soldier stepped up to shoot, she took a calculated step back. She didn't flinch, not even when the arrow sliced cleanly through her old instructor. Zeus fell down, dead. If she could not use strength, she would use brains.

"Who has the advantage now?" Annabeth spit, turning to follow Percy further, to escape, hopefully. But Annabeth had no hope left.

She watched in horror as Phoebe, the Amazon-servant, the very same one to be there the night Luke joined up, fell to the ground, her neck cut savagely by an officer. Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping deep down in her that if she didn't see it, it wasn't real. What a foolish thought.

The world slowed for her as the far end of the banquet hall darkened with gray uniforms and black guns. There was nowhere for her to run anymore. She had to fight.

"No." Percy's voice was hollow, broken. He lowered his own hands, letting the sword clatter to the ground. "We can't win this."

He was right. They closed in from the many doors and arches, and even the windows crowded with uniforms. Percy searched the faces, his eyes lingering on the soldiers. His own men. By the way they stared back, glaring at him, she knew they had already seen the horror Medusa created. Their loyalties were broken, just like their General. One of them, a captain, trembled at the sight of Percy. To Annabeth's surprise, he kept his gun at his side as he stepped forward.

"Submit to arrest," he said, his hands shaking.

Percy locked eyes with his old friend and nodded. "We submit to arrest, Captain."

Annabeth swallowed down the instinct to run. Next to her, Percy looked just as affected, his eyes reflecting a pain she couldn't even imagine. His wounds were soul-deep.

He had learned his lesson as well.

* * *

**Annabeth**

When Annabeth looked up, she was nose to nose with Percy. Though chained up, his sea green eyes were swirling, hurricanes crashing in his irises. His fury made her swallow thickly. Here, in these prisons, side by side, she allowed her guilt of the events to catch up with her. He didn't even look at her, his shoulders slumped in loss.

Annabeth leaned against the bars in front of her.

"In another life, I might've been jealous." Her head shot up as the door creaked open and Luke stepped in. "Reminds me of that little between you two in that abandoned stone room."

Annabeth's mouth went dry. "How..?" she choked out. Percy looked sick.

"Cameras." Luke smiled, but it was cold, unfamiliar, unnatural.

"Cameras?" How could she not know? She lived in this damn castle!

"Your mother, Athena, pushed extra security when we came here, not that trusting of Percy and I, nor the Raya sisters."

 _Shit!_ Annabeth wanted to throw up. Her mother had never told her, of course not, why would she, and now she was standing here, her unfaithfulness displayed for all to see. But after Luke had joined the Amazons, Annabeth, though not completely untied from Percy, had fallen for Luke more than his older brother. She'd fallen for his kind words, understanding personality, and his want for change. But it had all been fake. Annabeth nearly dropped to her knees in disbelief.

"I-"

Luke held up his hand. "Save it, _Princess_ ," he spat, his baby blue eyes turned icy cold. Annabeth felt shivers run down her back. "I've always been second to him… and he couldn't handle the fact that I finally had something he didn't- you. But I never really had you, did I?" Annabeth didn't answer, at a loss for words. It was not like she'd had Luke either. "Not that it matters now."

They were silent, until Percy finally spoke up, but it seemed he was talking to himself more than either of them. "Oh, _Lukey_ ," he whispered, but the once fond nickname was now said with this _fury_ that Annabeth could relate to. Though she suspected she would never feel the betrayal on the same level Percy had. "Where did I go wrong?" he mumbled.

Luke sneered. "Against your delusional thoughts, brother, you never went wrong, because you didn't shape me at all. It was all Mother. I am, in no way, your creation."

"But you are hers," Percy shook his head. "You wouldn't do this. Not by yourself. She manipulated you, twisting you through the years. She tortured you to help you forget Iris. She ruined you. And now here we are."

This was news to Annabeth, but she kept quiet.

"And what about you?" Luke turned to her. "Any last words."

Annabeth shook her head. "Just go."

He smirked. "Still angry you got played, huh?" And fury burned in Annabeth's core. She was done being quiet.

"I thought you were better than him!" Annabeth screamed and it felt so good to admit. Luke blanched, if only for a moment, as if he couldn't comprehend her words. Better than him. _Better than Percy._ Next to her, Percy fell silent, his gaze averted to the ground.

"I loved you," she said, and it felt like some dark truth she'd admitted. Shame coursed through her veins. Shame that she was so easily tricked, shame that she had been so naive, shame that he had gotten the best of her- of _her_ \- she who prided herself to rely only on her brain, never her heart. Unfortunately for her, her heart only seemed to rule her more with each passing minute.

"And for my love, I'll die," she choked, her hands going slack around the bars. _Die._ It was such an ugly word for a life of riches and glory. But she was a royal no longer.

"I won't let you die," said Luke, and Annabeth was reminded of his earlier promise, a false promise that had shattered everything in her when she'd realized his lies. This time his words did not bring her comfort, only fueling her anger. It was not yet quenched and she feared it never would be.

"Your brother loved you too," she accused, ignoring the scowl on his face at the mention of Percy. But now she was on a roll and there was no stopping her when she was in her element. "And your father, your father loved you too!" She was shouting and her voice was hoarse, but it made her feel strong to yell, so she did. His scar twisted as his face went ugly, filled to the brim with rage and bitterness. "He loved you and you were too blind to see it! And so you killed him!" Tears of betrayal and frustration pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, to permit Luke this victory. She would not cry, not in front of him.

"You lie," he hissed, his tone cold and calculating as always. But she watched as he struggled to contain his anger, as she goaded him with her words.

"I do not," Annabeth spit at his feet and Luke stepped back, disgusted.

"I'll save you," he said again. "You can be my Queen."

Annabeth smiled then, but it didn't feel like her at all. "I'd rather _perish_."

His face remained impassive, but she watched as his eyes lit up. "So you choose him, then, in the end?" He jerked his head towards Percy, who had lost all scorn, who was looking at his brother like he was a stranger. Like he didn't know him at all. Perhaps he didn't.

Annabeth didn't look at Percy, not yet. If she saw his face, she would crumble to dust right then and there. Instead, she _thought_ about Percy, she thought about his kind words, but his reluctance to support the Amazons, thought about his love of his birthright- the crown. "I choose no one," Annabeth declared and though it burned, nothing had ever felt more right. Even Luke could not mask his momentary surprise.

"I see," he replied, cool once again. "Then please, _Lady Chase_ , let the games begin."

 _Games?_ She sneered. "Just get it over with." She thought of her noose, of her execution. Perhaps her head, too, would be chopped off, mounted on Luke's wall for all to see.

"Oh, no," and he smiled, a smile that made her blood freeze. "Your death will not be quick," he promised, and with that, he glanced at Percy and left.

Annabeth thought of Malcolm, then, her brother who was sure to be killed if he did not escape. As soon as Luke left, the tears caught up with her, reminded of Nico and all of those she'd left behind. They would die too, for her crimes, and her foolishness, and her greed.

She ignored the people who needed her and latched onto people who didn't. She dove into every other world except her own just because she wanted something more glamorous than her real life. She did destructive shit so a stupid hypocritical boy would like her.

She fell for Princes instead of using her brain.

_Fuck._

"Do you think they'll kill my brother?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotions, long after Luke had left. She was sure Percy could hear her crying, but he didn't say anything. In these moments, there really was nothing left to say. Percy shifted against the bars to lean against her back, providing her warmth and comfort even through the cool metal. She was grateful as she sniffled, trying to pull herself together.

"I think Luke has bigger things to worry about," he whispered, but said nothing else.

Tomorrow morning they would die, and if there was only one thing she could say to Percy before their death, it was an apology.

"Percy?" He didn't say anything, but she knew he was listening. He always did. She had thought she was using them both, Luke and Percy. What a fool she'd been. "I'm sorry." They were two puny words. Two words that did not make up for her betrayal and her lies, for the loss of Bianca, or for the loss of his father. But they were a start.

He sighed and she felt the vibrations against her skin, comforting in the cold dark of their adjacent cells. "Me too."

Many things had led to this day, for all of them. A forgotten son, a naive Princess, a strategic mother, a brother with a long shadow. Together, they wrote a tragedy.

In the stories, the old fairy tales, a hero comes. But all her heroes were gone or dead. No one was coming for her.


	10. An Unexpected Development

**Annabeth**

"If I can break this cell open, can you sneak us out?"

"I don't know," he emptily murmured. Annabeth frowned; Percy seemed to have given up on all hope and it was honestly scaring her. How could he give up so easily? _Because he has nothing left_ , a dark corner in her mind reminded her. He had lost everything, really, and King Poseidon was dead. Because of her. A stab of guilt passed through her because in life, there really were no take backs. What had happened was over, and there was nothing she could do about it now.

"Besides," his voice was hoarse. "Why would you even want to help me?" he smiled, but there was no humor in it. It was terrifying, so unlike his usual demeanor. She had done this to him; she was the cause of this whole mess. Of course he fucking hated her. Annabeth bit her lip. "I'm just a thing for you to use."

Annabeth's body grew cold. She couldn't bear to hear anymore. "Look," she began, and she licked her lips in concentration, "we can either rot together in front of all the kingdoms as Luke's little show, or we can get the hell out of here."

"And then what?" Percy whispered, his eyes vacant. There used to be so much life in them before she put them out. "No kingdom will want a murderer for King, or," he looked her over once, "for Queen. If that's what you were after. Though I highly doubt the Amazons would like that." He said it with no malice, but Annabeth knew he was hurting. He was fucking hurting and it was all her fault. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"You told me once that you didn't care for the monarchy too much," Annabeth murmured. Percy's face darkened, clearly upset that she would bring personal words he had told her when they had been alone and trusting of one another into such a bleak conversation. "You told me you wanted to explore the ocean," her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. "That you wanted to be a marine biologist or something along those lines."

"It hardly matters what I wanted," he mumbled. "I learned that when I was really young. My Queen would be picked for me, my life would be picked for me, my path was never really mine. But you don't want to sympathize with a royal asshole," he smirked mirthlessly at his play on words. "So I won't bother you any longer."

"Percy!" she snapped, short with him. "Listen to me," she begged, and she reached through to his cell, shaking him something fierce. He glared at her. "Please," she pleaded, and against his will (or so she suspected), something in his expression softened. "I don't want any rulers."

"I know," he acknowledged, not pushing her touch away, but still tense under her contact. She looked at him pointedly.

"You're right," he relented. "I grew to love the crown, but to me, it was always my father's." His voice took on a more sorrowful edge at the mention of his father. "And I suppose, in some ways, it will always be his. No matter what the people say, no matter what they say, it will be his."

Annabeth swallowed. "They'll still follow you, no matter what," she tried to comfort him, but she knew it was a lie. Percy blinked; he knew it was a lie too.

"No, Annabeth. _He killed his father for the throne. He just couldn't wait._ That is what they will say. No matter what really happened. Because people believe what they want to believe. You should know that by now," he shook his head, as if he was disappointed. Perhaps he was. He had been on track as the youngest General to lead a war, he had made so many friends, his soldiers had been his brothers, and now he was all alone.

"My mom didn't come from much," Percy spoke up, his voice soft as he broke their tense silence. "She wasn't a royal. She taught me better. And I still get it wrong sometimes, Annabeth believe me, I know," he stared at her in the eyes and Annabeth couldn't help but think that he had the most beautiful eyes in the world. "And when she died," he clenched his jaws, looking like a kicked puppy. "She never really left me, you know? So I'm still trying. I know a crown isn't worth as much as the royals want it to. I will not play their games for a throne, especially not a throne forged of blood. That isn't me." He seemed nervous, as if he'd never admitted this out loud. Annabeth imagined he hadn't. The commoners would kill him for rejecting a crown, call him a spoiled, privileged brat. And his father and step-mother would never understand. He blinked up at her with big, sea-green eyes.

"I'll help you," he whispered, and it felt like a promise, but Annabeth didn't trust promises anymore. Not after Luke. "I'll help get you out of here. You can escape across the border, get to Canada. You'll love it there, I know you will. Their democracy was built for people like you."

Annabeth didn't bother to address all that was wrong in that statement, not before finding out what his plan was. "But what about you?" She'd betrayed him and here he was, offering to set her free and cut her loose of all ties. Her expression crumbled with concern.

Percy's face was solemn. "I have nothing to live for, Annabeth. I have my uncle, but even Chiron, he'll be okay. My father's dead, my mother's long dead, and my brother-"he hesitated "-he might as well be dead." His mouth pressed into a thin line. "Look, I admit. I don't know how your mother and father's relationships are with you. I don't know your family dynamic, but believe me, I know just how messed up it can be." Annabeth inhaled a sharp breath. Her father and her had a poor bond but Athena and her really did love each other, though their love was certainly unorthodox. Frederick and her was just plain cold. "But you have Malcolm. And he really fucking loves you, Annabeth. He's a good brother, the brother I wished I could've been for…" he closed his eyes. "Never mind. You need to get out. Luke will kill off so many royals. You've got to get out and save him. You mean everything to him. And I owe him, for much more than you'll ever know." Annabeth couldn't possibly imagine what that meant. "So I'll get you out of here."

Annabeth stared at the ground. "Percy, no."

"No?"

"No," and she cupped his face in her hands. His breath hitched; this was too intimate for them both. But she could hardly move away now that she was holding him. "My entire life is here, here in the USA. It's my fate to stick with the Amazons and bring democracy here. It's what I want. But I'll protect you," she vowed, choking over her words. "I'll set you free and I'll protect you."

Percy paused. "We'll protect each other and we'll both be free," he amended.

"So… democracy?"

He chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Democracy," he concluded, nodding a little. "Now," he backed away from the bars. "Let's get the hell out of here." Annabeth squeezed his hand in hers, relying on his strength to help her keep hers.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Sir," Annabeth whimpered, feigning fear. Well, feigning _this_ kind of fear; she would be lying if she said she wasn't afraid at all. "May I please have some water?" she requested her and Percy's guard, acting like a pathetic prisoner. She slipped to the ground, hanging her head low. Percy was sitting on the opposite corner of his cell, pretending to ignore her, but he was indeed carefully watching her movements like a hawk, appreciating her acting and manipulation skills.

The guard glared at her. "You already asked for a blanket. Should I call Crown Prince Luke down here, tell him of your ridiculousness? Tell him to conjure up a special punishment for you? He's quite creative, I assure you," he growled at the 'ditzy' blonde.

"Please, sir," she pleaded, licking her lips like she was extremely parched. The guard muttered a few unkind words, and minutes later, he'd fetched a cup of water for her. Annabeth's eyes gleamed mischievously, but she kept her head down, silently thanking him for the water. She sipped it slowly, biding her time with the plan. And then she dropped the glass close to the exit of her cell.

Glass shards flew everywhere, lodging itself in the guard's palm. He hissed out in pain. "You dumb bitch!" he screeched, howling in pain.

"I'm so sorry!" she stood up, only causing more of a commotion. Percy stood up too, arguing with the second guard and stirring up more chaos. "I didn't mean it! Please, please have mercy on me!" Percy was spitting some nonsense a couple feet left of her. "I'm sorry!" she swiftly kicked a shard to Percy's foot. She subtly picked up one of her own while trying to console the injured guard. Pulling the shard out before the guard could compose himself, she threw it hard and far. The sharp edge sunk into the guard's eyes, and as he collapsed, Annabeth quickly twirled his keys out of his pockets. Her fingers were skinny and slight, slick as she stole her way to freedom. Hastily, she unlocked her own cell just as Percy stabbed the other guard with his own glass shard in the neck. The second guard toppled over onto the first, his a clean cut running alongside his neck.

Annabeth sneakily freed Percy, and the dark-haired young man scooped up their weapons, tossed in the corner where the guards had previously been standing. Not sparing a moment to even marvel her own outsmarting skills, Annabeth allowed Percy to drag her behind him as the pair snuck up the staircase, making their way out of the cellar. And so began their escape.

…

Annabeth stalked down the hallway, Percy by her side. She led the way this time, even if Percy had better reflexes and a keener sense of hearing. It was almost like he felt the enemy before he even saw them. So when he suddenly grabbed her arm, jerking her backwards, Annabeth let him cover her mouth to keep her from freaking out.

"I already saw you," the feminine voice said, turning the corner. "The Princess' blonde hair is a dead giveaway, you know." Annabeth quietly cursed and Percy cautiously peeked out of their hiding spot: a tiny alcove they'd hastily ducked into. Annabeth stayed hidden, but Percy's shoulders seemed to relax, so whoever it was, they couldn't have been much of a threat to their escape.

"And I'm going to help you," she said, walking towards Percy. Annabeth padded softly out of the alcove and peered at the girl across from them. She was a bit younger than Annabeth with chocolate brown locks of luscious hair and eyes that seemed to change color so often that the blonde had never truly figured out what color they were supposed to be.

"Piper?" Annabeth couldn't mask her surprise. The third Raya daughter had always seemed quieter than her older sisters, keeping to herself. But that didn't mean Annabeth trusted her anymore than she trusted the other Princesses of House Raya.

"Why would you help us escape?" Percy narrowed his eyes at her, but Piper didn't flinch.

"Let's just say I owe your bodyguard a favor," she looked at Annabeth. Annabeth shifted her weight onto her other foot, clearly uncomfortable by the young woman's scrutinizing gaze. Piper looked at people so fiercely that Annabeth irrationally feared she could see her very soul. Her very twisted soul. "Besides, I don't give a shit what the cameras say." Annabeth's lips parted in surprise at the younger Princess' language. "You didn't kill him by your own free will," Piper nodded at Percy. He stiffened at the mention of his passed father. "I could see it on your face. And nobody could convince me otherwise."

Raya children were always good at recognizing emotions, Annabeth knew, but how Piper could pick out tiny details like that out of a low-quality video of murder, she didn't know. "So I'll help you go," Piper offered, bowing her head to the Princess and Prince. "And then I will also leave. Or Luke will kill me," she grinned, almost like she knew something Annabeth didn't. The blonde was unsettled but intrigued.

"This way," Piper gestured, and spun on her heels to walk down the dark corridor.

Annabeth shared a look with Percy, who shrugged. The blonde pursed her lips and then followed after the other royal child. After all, what other choice did they have?

Piper lead them to the exit they'd been trying to get out of at first, but Annabeth spotted the nearby guard before the brunette could lead Percy and her to their deaths.

"There's a guard!" she hissed, pointing to the heavily armed man, dressed head to toe in silver. She narrowed her eyes at Piper, suspicious of her promises towards the both of them. Never fucking trust a Raya.

"I know," Piper assured her, leaving Annabeth puzzled. "While I talk, you run. And don't come back, not for anything. Or they'll kill you," her orbs turned a dark, mesmerizing green. It was haunting. Annabeth quickly nodded. The daughter of Aphrodite walked up to the guard, a young man, and began to shamelessly flirt. Annabeth was astounded; she had never tried to use her looks for anything, but Piper was so comfortable with herself, her words, and her body. Annabeth almost envied the younger girl, but when Percy tugged on her hand, she remembered where she was and her place.

Together, they snuck around the last of security, bounding across the castle ground. A couple guards spotted her, despite Piper's generous donation of two dark cloaks for camouflage and sturdier, training shoes for Annabeth. Shouts filled the air and by now, Luke surely knew she was gone. She imagined he wasn't too pleased for his big brother and his betrothed to be on the run, and together. If they could just reach the deep, dark forest, they could find their way.

The castle speakers boomed with his voice, a cruel, cold voice, one she no longer recognized. It blasted down on her, chilling her to the very bone:

"You can run, little Annie, but you can't hide. And when I find you…" he trailed off. The exiled Princess could practically imagine his cold smile and shivers ran down her spine. "…we'll have so much to discuss."

Percy pulled her close to him as they plunged into the damp dark of the unknown.

* * *

**Piper**

Piper slipped back into the castle without anyone looking. She glanced out the large, cool castle windows. Percy and Annabeth were long gone and she could only pray that they had gotten out unharmed. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to help them. Piper could had just turned the other way and pretended she'd never seen them, but without her help, she was fairly sure they would have gotten caught. Though they had chosen the best route to escape (she figured Annabeth had picked, knowing the castle the best out of the pair), there was still one guard blocking that exit. If it weren't for her shameless flirting, she supposed they'd be locked up once again, only to die quicker and more painfully than before.

But there was just something about her, about Annabeth that was so interesting to her. She knew Annabeth was part of the Amazons now; the entire fucking country knew. But the fire in Annabeth's eyes, it drew her in, and now, Piper had made up her mind. She had to leave the castle, yes of course. She would die here, Luke would kill her without a moment of hesitation. She was of no use to him and those who were useless were the first to die. She shuddered.

But now she had a new purpose. Annabeth's strength had inspired her and if they'd let her, if she could keep her courage, Piper, too, planned to join the Amazons. But she could not leave without warning those who deserved a warning, without telling those who would most likely heed her warnings and leave. She could not leave before sparing a few innocent lives.

She turned the corner, her gaze falling to the impassive, familiar face that she'd passed so many times without another thought. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but she wasn't going to dwell upon. Especially not now. Not with so many other things to worry about.

"Sir," the brunette politely addressed him, but he didn't look up, not even when they were the only two people in the corridor. Of course, he seemed to be hurrying somewhere, no doubt fulfilling his duty to serve the kingdom and with Percy and Annabeth deemed traitors and on the run, he was probably following orders. Piper didn't really care. "Jason Grace!" she demanded, raising her voice. She imagined Aphrodite would have narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips in distaste at her youngest daughter's actions, but Aphrodite was off with the other royals grieving the loss of King Poseidon, no doubt.

The guard turned around, stunned to be called by name. And by of all people, a young lady of high rank. Piper sized him up carefully, only confirming her decision. He arched a perfectly groomed brown eyebrow in surprise at her outburst.

"Where is Malcolm?" Piper didn't bother with pleasantries. "And Nico?" she inquired.

Jason, seemingly forcing himself out of his shock, collected himself. "I believe Crown Prince Chase is in the library, ma'am. And Crown Prince di Angelo has either decided to accompany him, or he is still in the presence of his superiors, Princess."

Piper frowned, displeased by the answer, most notably his overly-polite terms for her. _Ma'am?_ Was he joking? Piper felt like she had aged ten years overnight. "Very well then. Come with me." Inspired by Annabeth's spunk, she grabbed a shell-shocked Jason's hand in hers, and practically dragged him after her. His cheeks were flushed, probably embarrassed by the physical contact. Her heart was doing backflips inside despite herself. Maybe the idiot wasn't as oblivious as she'd previously come to the conclusion. Hope swirled deep down at the bottom of her chest.

"Where are we going?" Jason asked after a moment, warily following the headstrong Princess.

She didn't answer, bursting into the library instead. "You," she pointed a hand at Malcolm, who was pale and glaring at the books in front of him. They were Annabeth's records- Piper recognized them well. A pang of sympathy momentarily flashed through her, but she pushed down the emotions when she remembered why she was here.

 _Me?_ Malcolm mouthed, eyes wide and rimmed red like he had been crying or something.

"You're coming with me as well," Piper decided, and Malcolm didn't jump to his feet like she'd hoped. He wasn't as willing as Jason, it seemed.

"Why?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Because if not, you'll die," she quipped.

Malcolm blinked slowly, and he warily rose to his feet. "I'm listening," his voice was gruff.

"But first," Piper kept her wits about her. "We must locate Crown Prince Nico," she ordered both the young men. It was strange, and definitely a first to be the one calling all the shots. She couldn't deny that it was somewhat satisfying. Perhaps this is what the stubborn blonde had longed for on the royal council.

"He's with the Kings and Queens," Malcolm repeated Jason's earlier sentiment and cleared his throat, hiding any evidence of his earlier surfacing emotions. Piper pretended not to notice, as did Jason, allowing him to collect himself.

Piper frowned. "A minor inconvenience," she spoke out loud, assuring herself more than her companions. She headed out the door, holding her head up high like she'd seen Princes do on so many occasions, and she was pleased to discover it felt oddly natural. She contemplated her quickly-forming plan as she flounced down the cool corridor. Both Jason and Malcolm had always been rule-followers, the brunette was well aware. However, she was starting to think that the whole _rule thing_ was a bit overrated. There was this unfamiliar excitement inside of her. That she was breaking the norm, that she was questioning the status quo. For once she didn't have to look behind her to know Malcolm and Jason were right on her tail, obedient and docile.

…

"No," the olive-skinned boy spat angrily. "Absolutely fucking not." He had gotten paler since Bianca's demise, but it was such a small change so far that Piper suspected he didn't expect anyone else to notice. But Piper always noticed such things; it was just the way she was. An unexpected surge of sympathy tugged at her heartstrings, but she remained stoic, understanding that she could not sit around pitying the youngest Crown Prince if she was to convince him to be compliant.

"But Nico," Piper sighed in resignation, flitting her eyes around the room in exhaustion. "Luke _will_ kill you. Don't be a fool. Do not cave to his sweet-spoken lies," she bit out. She had explained all she knew of Percy and Annabeth, trusting the boys' loyalties enough to spill the beans. She had offered to take them with her in her escape, to take them with her to the Amazons, or to wherever they wanted on her way to her definite destination. Jason had agreed quickly, claiming he had nothing left for him here, that Annabeth was his best friend and wherever she went, so did he. And his need for his sister, to understand, but he hadn't said much about her. He hadn't confessed his anger at Luke either, but Piper could spot it, clear as day. Piper understood; she was angry also. Angry at everyone, at the world, at Luke, at so many fucking things she would need more than two hands and two feet to count on. Her fury fueled her passion.

Malcolm stared at his feet, not quite meeting the eye of the youngest boy. Piper imagined that every time he saw Nico, he saw Bianca's shadow behind the soon-to-be King. Annabeth's brother had not agreed either, much to her surprise. She had forseen Nico's resistance, but not Malcolm's nor Jason's. Annabeth meant everything to them.

Nico flinched. "I don't give a fuck," he growled, this _hatred_ burning off him in a way Piper had not seen before. Malcolm was quiet.

"Bianca would not want this for you," Piper whispered after a silence, and it was her turn to flinch this time at Nico's murderous gaze.

"Do not speak of her! You didn't know her, and you don't fucking know what she would have wanted!" Nico barked. There was a fire in his eyes that Piper had not seen from him before. It was worrisome. She was quiet for a moment, allowing him to bask in his fury; it did nobody any good to bottle up those emotions.

"You're right," she dipped her head in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry," she rectified her earlier claims. "But Nico, she's dead now." Piper's voice was soft, understanding, almost like she was trying to comfort a terrified animal. "You're _alive._ And I know it hurts, but you can't live like the dead just because she's gone."

Nico squeezed his eyes shut, dimming the fire. His shoulders hunched over as if her words physically pained him to hear. He shook his head no again. "I said no," he whispered, all raspy.

"This castle will crumble anyways," Piper murmured, and somehow, they didn't think she meant the building.

"Then I shall fall with it," Nico looked her in the eye, and Piper wanted to duck out of his field of vision; he was not one to often make eye contact. It was unsettling, to say the least. "I despite those ridiculous Amazons. It was _their_ plan, _their_ bullets, _their_ bomb that killed Bianca. And as much as I respect you," he glanced at Malcolm, "I must admit, I don't really care for your sister anymore. Not after she was part of the plan that killed my sister," he said, sharply. Malcolm didn't respond, graciously and silently accepting the younger boy's opinion. "For _Bianca_ ," Nico choked over his passed sister's name. "I'll stay in this damned castle and help the royals win. May you have success in your plans to thwart the royals, and may the best side win." He backed away from Piper, Jason, and Malcolm, drawing his lines clearly.

It was a lost cause, the stubborn Crown Prince refused to waver to the other side. Piper respected his wishes, and also stepped back to stand at Jason's side. "Will you stop us from escaping, then?" she queried.

Nico slowly shook his head. "I will turn a blind eye to your vanishment," he promised quietly. Perhaps he wasn't an entirely lost cause.

"Okay," the brunette breathed. "You're sure?" Nico nodded in response, and she turned to Malcolm instead. "Annabeth's on the run. I have no doubt she'll seek out the Amazons, but I don't really know where Percy stands on this scale. We'll find your sister again, and if you come with us, maybe you can reconcile with her," she suggested. She couldn't help the excitement building in her chest; maybe she was finally going to have her own adventure.

Malcolm chewed his bottom lip, contemplating her offer. "No," he said finally, surprising the Princess. She had expected some resistance from Nico, but none from the Crown Prince of Epresh. Everyone knew him and his baby sister were awfully close, especially considering they were royals for fuck's sake. "I wish to serve the royal court with my mother, Queen Athena, and father, King Frederick. It's always been my place and my destiny. And if my parents had decided to side with Prince Luke, then I suppose I side with the younger Prince as well." He didn't sound sure; him and Percy had had a mutual understanding, Piper knew. This choosing must have hurt like hell. "I'll pray for her though, I'll pray that you find her," he whispered under his breath, quiet enough that the brunette suspected she was the only one to hear it. He still loved his sister, she figured, but he would not able to do much beside the Amazons. His place was beside his father, another proud figure of Epresh.

Piper sighed, irrationally disappointed in his decision. "Okay. Crown Prince Malcolm, and Crown Prince Nico," she dipped low to the ground, bowing, though she was not supposed to, though she was their same rank. "Be safe," she whispered, surprising Nico, and even Malcolm. They turned their cheeks, pretending to not notice as the ex-Princess dragged Annabeth's old bodyguard behind her and slipped out of the castle into the dark of the night. She had one opportunity, this one chance, and she would not blow it.

Climbing on a majestic white stallion just like she had always dreamed of in her fantasy adventures, Piper chased the dawn, Jason hot on her trail on a brown beauty of his own. The sun was warm on her face and the orange glow cast a beautiful light on her cape, flowing in the breeze behind her. It felt like a new beginning, one she had been only too eager for.

A new dawn, a new day, a new girl.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth tugged at her dark cloak, tangled in the tree branches and thick of the forest. Ball gowns were not made for threading through nature.

She cursed under her breath, pulling harder. She heard some of the fabric tear, splitting before her, but she could not find it in her to care. Why did it matter, if her cape was torn to shreds, if she tumbled off a cliff to her tragic death? She had already lost everything anyways. Well… almost everything. Malcolm was still there in the castle, as far as she knew, and the Amazons would be waiting for her. She had to make to them, she just had to.

"Stop struggling," Percy sighed, reaching out to help her. He was dirty, with mud streaked across his face and red scratches painted across his arms. He carefully freed her, unhooking the caught cloth without worsening the damage.

"Thanks," she muttered, trudging along in front of him. She knew the way to the Amazons, she did, but it was so much harder to find them going through these woods. But if they walked into town… they'd be killed on sight, murdered for 'murdering.' And Annabeth refused to let that happen. Percy was on edge, she knew, she could tell. He didn't like following her directions and depending on her knowledge, he didn't trust her. Well, not anymore.

Annabeth wiped some mud off her face, and tugged a loose twig out of her long, curly hair. She was tired, she was hungry, she was dirty, and-

"Don't be alarmed," Percy whispered, and his hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "But I think we have an audience." He didn't trust her, no, with good reason, but they had this mutual understanding that if they were going to survive, they were going to have to work together.

Annabeth held her breath, listening carefully, but she didn't hear anything. But there was this paranoid part of her, this piece that felt like something was watching them.

And then she saw it.

A dart of black through the bushes. They were standing in a clearing, they were wide open and exhausted. She was in a blue dress that might as well screamed ' _I'm over here, kill me!'_ And she was carrying a flaming torch to lead the way for both of them. The Amazonian, ex-Princess swallowed hard. This couldn't be the end; they had come so far. And the stream should've been around here somewhere, somewhere they could get some clean water and maybe wash off their grime. No, she wasn't ready.

She pointed wildly to the green, but the figure had slipped out of her sight. Percy's eyes scanned their surroundings like a hawk, taking in every detail of their surroundings in one sweep, just like he was trained to do.

"I think it's over here somewhere," she murmured, taking a step towards the thick. "I just saw it, it was standing right here. It was dark and it..." Annabeth trailed off, her eyes widening in horror.

Towering in front of them was a beast, dark in the night. It had multiple heads and with a quick count, Annabeth deducted that there were nine. A putrid smell radiated from the creature, a poisonous substance that made Annabeth feel a little woozy. It had dark, tough skin, and beady black eyes that made her blood run cold. She had seen something like this before, but only ever in stories. They weren't real, they were myths, they were Greek myths. She was probably hallucinating from lack of nutrients, she needed to get help. She couldn't be here, face to face with a fucking Hydra. Annabeth was ninety-nine percent sure she was losing it.

"Don't. Move." Percy's hushed tone sent shivers down her spine. The Hydra was face to face with the blonde and she was trembling down to her toes, but Percy was right, though she doubted he'd studied myths, though she doubted he knew he was right in the first place. Hydras had poor vision, but a keen sense of hearing. If they could be absolutely silent, then maybe they could slip away.

Percy unsheathed his sword as softly as possible, and she wanted to warn him to stop moving, to just stop. She hadn't even drawn her dagger, but she was too afraid to talk, too afraid that the Hydra would hear her.

The sword scraped against the cover and all nine of the Hydra's heads snapped to face the pair.

"Can I panic now?" Annabeth backed up into Percy, drawing her own dagger. The Hydra knew they were there, it was going to kill her. No point in subtlety now.

"I don't suppose it matters. We're already dead," Percy muttered, and the Hydra unleashed, diving for the Prince.

Percy rolled, scattering to somewhere on her left as she dove to the right. The Hydra's middle head crashed into the ground where they'd been standing just a moment before. It crushed a fallen tree trunk as if it was flimsy plastic. She winced, standing on her feet and narrowing her eyes at the monster in front of him. A million thoughts ran through her mind as she desperately tried to recall all she knew of the Greek monster.

But before she could say anything, the Prince swung.

"Percy, no!" she cried out, cringing as his sword cleanly sliced through the head. He seemed bewildered by her outburst.

"It's a Lernaean hydra," she revealed, curling into his side as he blocked another head's dive. "From Greek mythology. Every time you cut off a head," she glanced up at the monster, pursing her lips in distaste as the severed limb began to split. "It grows two new ones," she whispered.

"The heads spit acid," she rattled off the details, and as if on cue, the hydra roared, spitting acid. Percy shoved her aside, his reflexes quick and precise. "And the blood is poisonous. If we can collect the blood somehow, it'll be useful in the future."

Percy looked at her like she was crazy. "How the fuck do you know all this?" He dodged another strike, frowning as the two new heads properly formed.

"I read!" Annabeth ducked, the Hydra's rightmost head snapping its jaws mere inches above her.

"I thought these weren't real! I thought it was a myth!" Percy stabbed the hydra in the middle, avoiding cutting off the heads, and therefore only inflicting little damage.

Annabeth was pale like a ghost. "I thought so too!" She slashed at the hydra as it struck the tree next to her. She was pressed back into the tree and kicked, hard, with her shoe, annoying the head, but not doing much damage.

"So how do we win?" He was asking her, him of all people, for battle instructions. Annabeth blinked, her adrenaline on fire and her heart pounding out of her chest.

She struggled to remember her lessons with Chiron, but as Percy tired, fighting the majority of the heads for her, she realized she was going to have to come up with something, and quick.

"The 12 labors of Hercules!" Annabeth screamed over the commotion. Percy was listening, she could tell. She stabbed another head in the neck, slipping down the tree and landing neatly on her feet like a stealthy cat. "Watch out!" The hydra lunged at Percy's back, eight of the now ten heads surrounding him. She threw her dagger, and the hydra hissed, backing away if only for a moment. Annabeth jumped, pulling the dagger out of the monster, and rolled to the side. The hem of her dress liquified in a pool of the acid.

"Hercules!" Percy reminded her, fighting like a demon.

"Right! In the second labor, he battled a hydra. And to stop the regeneration of the heads, he cauterized the wounds." Her brain worked efficiently, taking in their inventory. "Percy, I have an idea!" He glanced over at her. "Cut off the heads!"

"Are you _insane_ , Chase?!" Perseus blanched. If she messed up, they could have 20 heads to deal with. 20 heads and a dead pair of royals.

"Just do it!" she snapped, running to him like she was being chased. And she was. She skid under the serpent-like tail and turned on the other side of Percy. Just as she'd requested, he cleanly sliced off a head. It fell to the ground with a disgusting squelch.

She kicked off the severed head, launching herself into the sky. And then she was free falling. Annabeth waved her arms wildly, trying to grab onto something, and then she was on the godforsaken hydra. She could vaguely hear Percy screaming at her in the background, the fear evident in his voice, fear for _her_ , but she could do this, she _had_ to. Tugging her torch towards the limb, she quickly held the fire to the neck, effectively cauterizing the wound and preventing the sprouting two heads.

"Is it working?" she yelped as she momentarily lost her balance, clutching onto the hydra and trying not to fall off. She hardly had time to watch and see if the heads would grow.

He didn't answer, chopping off another instead. She took that as a good sign. Together, they worked as a team, eliminating all ten heads as rapidly as possible. But she couldn't get out of her own head. This was… this was wrong. How could they live in a world with Greek monsters from the old myths? How could she never know? How had nobody ever seen them before? What was this, magic? Annabeth was a realist and she believed in science. This could not be real. Maybe she was dreaming, maybe it was all just some nasty nightmare. As she pondered upon these monsters, she began to lose focus. There were only two heads left, what was the worst that could happen?

The acid-spitting hydra desperately tried to shake her off, only one head left at this point. She slipped, losing her balance for good. Annabeth crashed to the forest floor, and the hydra, sourcing her as the weak link, breathed over her, the acidic breath singeing away the hair on her arms. Her dagger had fallen somewhere else; she could see it sparkling in the moonlight on the other side of the clearing. The hydra went to bite her shoulder and Annabeth was frozen, petrified. It was always scary to look death in the face and accept your fate.

Her eyes fluttered shut, bracing herself for the blow, when Percy jumped in front of her, sacrificing himself for her. The poisonous fangs sunk into the small of his back, tearing off a piece of his flesh. Percy blacked out instantly, the pain too much to handle, just as he sliced off the last head. Annabeth dry-heaved, his blood pooling underneath him. Annabeth quickly cauterized the last head, defeating the hydra, but she didn't even care about that anymore. She fell at Percy's side, her cheeks flushed pink and sweat beaded on her forehead. Her dagger was back in her belt, coated in the poisonous blood.

Percy was bleeding a lot, she knew that much. She tried to recall all she knew about medicine, but she couldn't stop panicking, which really wasn't helping either of them. She looked around them for help; she was no doctor, but surely she could use their resources and spare his life. That's when it hit her: _Percy could die._ It was an unwelcome, cold thought. He'd been impaled from taking the blow for _her_ , and he was depending on her now. She would not let him die, she couldn't afford to. Her large grey eyes darted to a stream trickling behind them, just past the clear. If there was a stream, there was sure to be civilization. Civilization equaled medicine, equaled saving Percy- and she would do _anything._ She mildly wondered if this was why he had panicked so much when she'd been bleeding all over the place in the ballroom so long ago. It took something from him to see him pale, and knocked out, his crimson blood staining her image of him.

Annabeth scrambled to her feet, covering Percy in leaves before searching for help.

"Stay put," she whispered, and then she immediately felt stupid because of fucking course he wouldn't move, he had blacked out. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , she reprimanded herself, clutching her dagger close to her side as she treaded cautiously towards the sound of flowing water. She trailed the bank of the stream, and she immediately spotted a figure dressed in plain clothes, hunched over the water with a thin fishing line.

He seemed to be thirty-something, with longish salt-and-pepper hair, and he wore a brown jacket over a black T-shirt. He reminded Annabeth of a television actor, and he was quite good-looking, better to look at than the idiotic, dishonest royals. _For Percy_ , she told herself, walking up to the fishing man. If this really went south, she could always bolt, dragging Percy after her. Though she supposed he was heavy.

"Hello, sir," she dipped low to the ground, curtsying elegantly despite her shredded dress. "If you please-" she paused, seeing the awe-stricken look on his face. "Sir?"

"You're- Princess Annabeth, my Lady, please forgive my lack of manners," he bowed low and Annabeth immediately felt bad. She'd never liked that she had to allow the bowing. It made her feel like every other royal; she really didn't know how else to put it. She still remembered being four or five and an old man had gotten on his knees to bow before her. He had been feeble, weak, and nobody batted an eyelash at his actions. It was _wrong_ in so many ways that she couldn't even begin to explain. But Athena wasn't here to tell her to keep still, she didn't have an image to preserve, she was a 'terrorist.' Annabeth frowned.

"You needn't bow to me, good Sir," she assured him, and he just smiled in return. Perhaps this wouldn't turn to shit after all. "I am no longer considered royal, as I'm sure you know," she murmured, nodding at him in acknowledgement.

"With all due respect Princess, my wife and I don't believe what Queen Medusa and her son are saying. You've been the golden apple of this kingdom for so long, you've done so much for everyone. My daughter, she's always looked up to you. I know you are on the run, and I would like to serve you however it may please you. For all you have given, I wish to return the favor, though I suppose I will never pay it all back," the man offered kindly.

Annabeth was stunned. She'd never thought of herself as the favorite of _anything._ The favorite of the kingdom? But… why? She spoke out of turn, she had a tendency to indulge in outbursts, she wasn't what a royal was supposed to be like at all. But Annabeth was not foolish. He had offered assistance and Percy was dying. The word stabbed her in the heart: _dying._ Such an ugly word for such a kind-hearted boy.

"My friend…"

"The Prince?"

Annabeth wondered if he could see just how fucking _scared_ she was. "Prince Perseus of House Calbourne, Sir. I understand if you do not appreciate him, he is Calbourne after all, and it has been engraved in our minds since we were young to hate them, but he is a dear _friend_ of mine and he has been severely injured in a battle during our escape," she said it quickly, all in one breath. _Friend_ didn't seem like the way to describe him, they were more than that, and yet, they were less. But she could not find a word to describe how she felt, so she kept her conflicting thoughts to herself. "And," she licked her lips thoughtfully, the existence of the hydra still bothered her. Annabeth looked over the man once more; he seemed genuine enough, and though she couldn't quite trust him yet, she was willing to vouch for him, just this once. "If you don't mind terribly, answer a few questions for me? Today's events have… _perturbed_ me."

The man blinked, and the corners of his mouth lifted up in amusement. "My wife and I have never hated the Calbournes, not like the King and Queen of Epresh, Princess. I think you will find that we are not quite like the others," he gently disclosed. "In fact, my wife has always been very fond of the eldest Prince of Calbourne." Well, that was a relief. Odd, nonetheless, but it made the weight of the burdens on her shoulder feel just a bit lighter. And it was one less thing to worry about. "I used to be a teacher," he nodded. "I love questions," and he grinned wide. In the five minutes Annabeth had interacted with this stranger, she already felt closer to him than her own father figure. The thought was depressing.

"Wonderful, thank you so much," she recognized his generosity. "If you please, I concealed the Prince in the forest for fear of his safety. I'm not sure I can haul him here on my own," she admitted, biting her lip nervously.

"I'm sure we can shoulder his weight between the both of us, Princess," the man responded, standing up and brushing off his slacks.

"Annabeth," she corrected. "Like I said, Princess no longer."

"To us, you will always be the true Princess of Epresh."

"The way I see it, it hard matters now, Sir," Annabeth mentioned as they walked back to where Percy was.

"How's that?" he let her set the pace, for which she was grateful. She'd had to be strong for Percy, but now that things had slowed down, her exhaustion had begun to catch up with her.

"I've joined the Amazons, Sir. As the kingdom knows by now, I'm sure. I've publicly announced that I don't support the monarchy. And the Prince, after some persuasion, has come to the same conclusion. I'm not sure what he'd prefer you call him, but I go by my given name now," she clarified, sorting out her thoughts as she went.

"That's certainly one way to look at it. But if it makes you more comfortable, _Annabeth_. I go by Paul. Paul Blofis, ma'am."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Paul." She smiled for what felt like the first time in eternity. The smile slipped off her face real quick as she peeled the leaves off the Calbourne Prince, exposing his bloody figure to the commoner. Percy had a bit of blood under his hairline as well, which she had not seen earlier.

"He's very pale," Paul noted in concern.

"Indeed," Annabeth gravely whispered. She struggled with his body until Paul took some of the weight, easing her difficulty. Shuffling awkwardly, they carried him back to Paul's humble abode. It was a small house, nothing extravagant, but cozy, and it felt like it fit the definition of 'home' a lot more than her drafty castle. Paul promised to look after Percy and instead, he hastily ushered her into the shower to wash the grime and exhaustion off. He even gave her some of his wife's old clothes, sizing her up with eyes carefully. He figured they'd fit Annabeth better now than his wife. Annabeth appreciated the gesture and putting her face in her hands, she let the scalding water rain over her in the private peace of the bathroom. It was a safe haven, somewhere she could be alone with her thoughts. She curled up in the cream tub and sighed softly. The water was just a notch under painfully scalding, just how she liked it.

But no matter how hard she scrubbed, even once his red was gone from her tan skin, she could still feel Percy's blood on her hands, alongside Bianca's and King Poseidon. Some things, she supposed, were not meant to be forgotten.

* * *

**Percy**

When he finally came to, Percy thought he was losing his mind. There was a damp washcloth on his forehead and most importantly, he was in the presence of an angel. Or so he thought. She smelled like fresh lemons and she was in a plain grey surcoat, and there were curly golden ringlets cascading down her shoulders and back. He blinked. Or maybe that was Annabeth. He squinted carefully, and this time his face felt hot with embarrassment. Yep, that was definitely the Princess.

The second thing Percy noticed was that he was completely indecent, and that was ridiculously embarrassing. He squirmed under the sheets, painfully aware that he only in his boxers. _Fuck._ And the Princess was smirking at him.

"You drool when you sleep." She grinned. Percy was glad the Princess had retained her interesting sense of humor.

The tips of his ears turned bright red. "I do not," he replied, as dignified as he could. That was hard to manage, of course, when he was half naked and hiding under the blanket. She tilted her head at him, mirth dancing in her steel eyes.

"Sure," she teased, but even she could not successfully conceal her worry. For what, he didn't know. Besides, Percy had bigger problems. A terrifying thought struck him as he struggled into a seating position.

His mouth fell open and his eyes widened in horror. "Did _you_ undress me?"

At least Annabeth had the decency to turn pink in the cheeks. "Of course not!"

Percy clutched his chest, damn near about to have a heartache. He shut his eyes in relief. "Oh thank god."

"It was Paul's wife while I was showering. I didn't meet her though," she explained.

"Paul? His wife?" Percy frowned. "Wait-" he examined their surroundings, the small bed, the open window letting the cool evening air into the bedroom. "What happened?" he winced, his back on fire as he shifted in the bed. There was a long bandage across his chest, one he hadn't noticed till just now.

"You woke up a couple times before," Annabeth frowned, her forehead crinkling in concern. "You seriously don't remember? I mean… you did pass out afterwards, but…"

He shook his head no, matching her frown.

"I even fed you some medicinal thing Paul gave me."

That explained the lasting taste in his mouth. It tasted strangely familiar, like he'd ate it before. But that made no sense, he'd never even been here before, and it seemed very unique.

"We were fighting the hydra. Do you remember that?"

Percy's blood froze now. So it hadn't been a nightmare, a strange one at that. "So that was real?" his face was grim.

Annabeth pressed her lips together tight. "Yes."

"But hydras aren't real," he pointed out, scared of what her answer would be.

"I know," she whispered, staring down at her hands in her lap.

"Annabeth?" he needed her reassurance, now more than ever before.

"I don't know, Percy. I haven't figured it out yet," she mumbled. Percy swallowed hard.

"Okay," he whispered in return. "And Paul? These bandages?"

"Paul Blofis and his wife… like I said, I didn't see her. I don't know her name, I'm afraid. But seeing how carefully she bandaged you, I'm sure she's wonderful. You were badly injured," Annabeth explained, her expression stoic, but her tone soft. She cared, but she didn't want to. Percy saw right through her little façade. Unfortunately, it was a feeling he was only all too familiar with. "You… um… you took a blow for me, and the hydra pierced you through the small of your back. And because it's poisonous, you blacked out."

Percy frowned. "I'm sorry," he apologized. He'd left the Princess to fend for herself.

"Don't be," she assured him. "We'd killed almost all of it before that. And as for Paul, I went searching for help. I didn't know how to treat your wound."

"Princess Annabeth not knowing something? That's a first," he muttered.

She glared at him, but the corner of her mouth curled up, and so he grinned, pleased to make her laugh. "Shut up," said Annabeth darkly.

"Yes, ma'am," he acquiesced, still teasing. But she didn't seem to mind all too much.

"As I was saying," cue menacing, frosty glare, "As I was seeking refuge, I stumbled across Paul. He was fishing nearby and he was kind enough to help me with you."

"Why would they help us?" Percy inquired, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Who would help an exiled Prince and Princess? They were nothing.

Annabeth was just as on edge. "That's what I thought." But before she could say another word, Percy's heart stopped as another figure entered the room. Another, rather _familiar,_ woman. He remembered the blue cookies, he remembered the band aids, the blue candy, and the hair ruffles. He remembered it all, and it was too much.

* * *

**Annabeth**

All of a sudden, Paul's wife walked in, and with Percy in the same room as her, Annabeth saw it before Percy could even utter a single word. Percy looked like he'd seen a ghost. Because he had. Because she was supposed to be dead. On her hip was a small girl, hardly two years old if Annabeth had to guess, but Annabeth still couldn't tear her eyes from the woman in front of them. If she thought Percy had looked just like Poseidon, the spitting image of the King, he looked a lot his mother too. His smile was all Sally and the crinkle around the corners of his eyes, and his steady, gentle touch.

His eyes were blown wide like doors, and vulnerable. For a second, she could almost spot the little boy he had been before shifting into his father's weapon, something for Poseidon to wield at his will. As much as Annabeth felt like an intruder, stuck in a private moment, she couldn't force herself to look away, to blink, even if only for a moment. Percy's hand was trembling by his side and she wanted to shake him, slap him, do something, anything, for him to go back to normal. This wasn't the Percy she knew. This moment, it was uncomfortable, and she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Annabeth inhaled a sharp breath, disbelieving of what she was seeing. This was too much.

She hadn't seen Paul's wife before, otherwise the Princess surely would have recognized her from King Poseidon's paintings. And all of a sudden, it made so much sense why they didn't mind her being here, or Percy, for that matter. Why they had no grudges against House Calbourne despite living in Epresh's forestry.

Her suspicions were only confirmed when Percy finally spoke. His voice was small and she could practically see him splitting at the seams, cracking into a million shards.

_"Mom?"_

* * *

**Annabeth**

Percy was disbelieving, and shocked, and his eyes flitted to the little girl on Sally Jackson's hip. She didn't resemble Poseidon at all, rather Paul, and Annabeth came to the conclusion that she was not royal at all, but rather, she was Paul's daughter.

The Prince pointed to her with a shaky finger. Annabeth was, for a moment, worried he was about to have a breakdown. To find out your mother's been alive this entire time, presumably remarried, and had a brand new daughter? Annabeth knew she would've. But Percy, surprisingly, seemed to be keeping it together for the most part. "Who's that?" he whispered, his hand trembling.

"Estelle Blofis," the old Queen introduced her daughter, but Percy had no reaction. Well, except… Percy put his face in his hands and for a scary second, Annabeth thought he was crying. She would not judge him if she did. In fact, she rather felt like crying _for_ him. Percy did not fall for Estelle's favor immediately, and Annabeth could only assume that it was because he didn't know Paul or Estelle at all, that they were pure strangers. And they were. He'd grown up his entire life thinking he was alone, he'd just had his father, who was now dead, and his half-brother, who turned out to be a backstabbing psychopath. Honestly, Annabeth wasn't a big fan of her family dynamic either, apart from her wonderful big brother, but she wasn't complaining. After all, they _definitely_ weren't winning the most-fucked-up award anytime soon. She imagined Percy remembered Sally though, and well. The Queen had died when she was about two, and though she couldn't remember the funeral well, she recalled lots and lots of blue flowers. Percy had been about three then, if she had been two. He would have grieved the same all the adults, too young to have lost his mother, and too old to forget. Annabeth's heart went out for him.

"You're supposed to be dead."

Annabeth wasn't sure what she was expecting him to say, but that certainly wasn't it. Sally Jackson, however, seemed unfazed.

"Estelle's about one and a half now," was all she said in response. Percy didn't look up from where he'd hidden his face in his hands and in all honesty, the Princess didn't blame him.

"Why didn't you bring me with you?" Percy looked up now, and his eyes were rimmed red. Annabeth's chest constricted painfully at his pain. Annabeth had begun to think that he had no sadness, nor remorse, no emotions, none at all. How wrong she had been.

"Percy," Sally whispered, and it was so sympathetic, and remorseful. Annabeth felt like an intruder, in this family reunion she wasn't sure Percy wanted.

"No," he held up a hand, and shut his eyes.

"I didn't forget you, Perce. I would never. I celebrated your birthday every year," she reported mournfully.

Percy's eyes screwed shut tighter. "No, mom. My father's dead, and my brother… I just- I really don't fucking need this right now." Annabeth didn't miss how he'd choked on the term for his mother. Percy glanced at Estelle, almost remorseful for cussing in front of a child. "I just- I need some space," he breathed, and looked at the sheets covering him.

"Sally, there's another report from the castle. The Statue of Liberty is under water, caving in and bombed," Paul walked into the room, growing quiet as he sensed the tension. War had officially begun. Percy set his jaw and stared at the open door behind Paul. Perhaps Paul was his tipping point.

"If you'll all excuse me, I'd like to get dressed," he was distanced in the way he talked. Annabeth felt that familiar guilt swimming back, threatening to choke her.

"You're leaving?" Sally asked, and her voice was small. Estelle had begun to whine for food and Paul excused himself, taking their daughter with them. Annabeth looked at Percy, but he did not return her gaze, not this time. His playful side was gone, replaced by the cold, indifferent Prince he was supposed to be. But she knew better, she had seen the passionate side, the beautiful side, and she knew, just like herself, he was not comfortable with his vulnerable side.

"I'm not sure yet," he grit out between his teeth. He hadn't really stopped crying through all of this, she'd noticed. But Percy was a quiet crier and he didn't seem to lose his resolve despite the tears.

Sally flinched at his response. "I'll give you your privacy then," and she left the pair of them alone.

Annabeth was not fooled by his tears; Percy was really fucking close to losing it and he was seriously angry. She didn't blame him. "I'll let you change," she whispered, standing up.

"Annabeth?"

He sounded so small. She bit her lip. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

He didn't have to say for what, she already knew. Nodding politely, she ducked out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

…

"You didn't come for supper," the blonde noted and sat on the steps of the cottage outside, quietly taking her place next to Percy. He hadn't bothered to shower yet, his tears long gone and replaced by this seemingly emotionless, still filthy, battered war hero.

"Mhmm," he grunted.

"Not hungry?"

"Mm." He stared out into the night.

"Are you going to continue to give me one-to-two syllable, garbled answers?"

"Mhm."

"Smartass."

This time he cracked a weak smile, but it lacked his usual charm. It was emptier than she was used to. "Did you like dinner?" he asked, and she figured it was to make polite conversation.

"Sally's a wonderful cook," Annabeth responded politely.

"She always was," he murmured, lost in thought.

"I'm sorry that I didn't warn you before," she apologized. "I didn't know she was his wife."

"That makes two of us."

"Are you okay?" Annabeth asked, and then immediately regretted it. He was on the verge of a mental breakdown and here she was, speeding up the process. _Idiot._

"Are you?" he threw the question back in her face. She knew what he was referring to.

"The hydra didn't get me," she shook her head. "Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"

"I've had it worse."

"I'm sure you have, but that's not what I asked," she looked at him pointedly. He sighed.

"Did you figure it out?"

"I asked about the hydra as subtlety as possible," Annabeth admitted. "Neither Sally nor Paul had an inkling of what I was talking about. I imagine they thought I was off my rocker, delusional with exhaustion."

"Are you?" he joked, but it was softer now.

"Do you think I am?"

"I've always thought you were a bit delusional," he replied cheekily, and Annabeth shoved him hard. He smiled at the ground, but it seemed as if it pained him. His lower lip was busted after that battle.

"But seriously, Percy. Nobody knows what I'm talking about. Nobody's seen these monsters. So why can we?"

Percy's muscles tensed, but he just shrugged. "Maybe we made it up in our heads. Maybe it never happened it all."

"Percy, you're living proof that it happened," she pointed out.

"Point well made as ever, Miss Chase."

"So what do you think?" she was eager for his take on this whole craziness. Perhaps he knew more than he was letting on, though she highly doubted he would withhold information from her at this point.

He shrugged again. "I haven't really given it much thought. Been a bit preoccupied," Percy told her.

Annabeth frowned. "So what have you been thinking about? You've been out here an awful long time."

"The Amazons, the war, my father, my existence," he smiled all crooked; like his typical lopsided grin, only it was so much different now. "You."

"Me?" Annabeth couldn't hide her surprise. "What about me?"

Now he looked at her for the first time in a while. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then shut it and shook his head. "Did you figure out how far we are from the Amazon base?"

"You still want to go there?"

"Democracy, Annabeth. I thought that's what you wanted. Have you forgotten so quickly?" he was scornful and a bit mean, but given the time of day, his injuries, this recent shocking news, and the fact that he'd fucking saved her life, Annabeth decided to let it slide.

"I thought you'd want something else now."

"I'm not running back to Sally, if that's what you're thinking." Annabeth kept her mouth shut, because yes, that was exactly what she'd been thinking. "I've chosen my cause, and I think it's about time you remember yours," he sighed. He couldn't even be mean anymore. Too tired to build up his typical coping mechanism. The blonde could relate.

"Maybe you should hear your mother out. She had some interesting things to say during dinner."

Percy glared at the blades of grass in front of him as if they were the cause of all his problems. If only it were that simple. "I don't want to talk about her anymore," he said, so Annabeth dropped it.

"Are we leaving tomorrow morning, then?" Annabeth inquired. In all honesty, she was kind of afraid to. What if they ran into more monsters that nobody else could see? It made her feel so crazy, crazier than usual.

"Yes."

"Then you should probably shower. You smell of dried blood." She wrinkled her nose.

"Thanks, that's what I was going for. _Eau de blood of my enemies._ "

"Excellent. I'm sure all the ladies will love it." Two could play at his little sassy game.

"Does that include you?" he was a cheeky little bastard.

"I'm more of a wet dog kind of girl," said Annabeth, equally as sarcastic.

"Ah, damn. I'm all out of soaked Golden Retriever."

She bit the inside of her cheek, but failed to hide her shy grin. "I prefer wet German Shepherd, actually."

Percy smiled down at his hands, failing to conceal his amusement as well.

Annabeth tucked her legs under her, keeping her distance from the dark of the night. She wasn't sure if Percy was even tired, but before she could ask, she leaned back against the stairs and drifted off under the gleaming stars.


	11. First Coffee, Then Murder

**Piper**

Piper tied her dark her hair out of her face, knotting it loosely. She cupped her hands in front of her, scooping the water from the clean stream and bringing it to her mouth. The cool liquid slid down her throat, offering her temporary relief from the hot afternoon sun.

Jason and her had stopped to take a break, sensing the fatigue of both their horses, and themselves of course. It wasn't easy to navigate the thick forests of Epresh, a task that constantly stimulated your mind.

"Any idea how much longer?" Jason tapped his feet together, though Piper didn't really think he realized he was indulging in such nervous behavior. The blond leaned back against the tree bark, seeking solace under the cool shade. Throughout the entire trip so far, they had barely shared a couple words here and there. It wasn't exactly what Piper had had in mind when she remembered her fantasies to escape, but now that she had, now that she was free (or so she hoped), now that she was wild, she could not complain too much. Jason had a lot on his mind, she knew. He had briefly explained something about a sister, or at least, that's what Piper had _thought_ he'd been mumbling about, so she had decided to cut him some slack and give him space.

"If our horses hold up, we can make it by midnight," she decided, scanning the blue sky above them for any signs of nighttime. So far it didn't show.

"Midnight?" The corner of Jason's mouth quirked up. Piper's eyes lingered on the small scar on his upper lip, the only flaw in his otherwise perfectly symmetric and all-American boy features. Somehow, the little imbalance was endearing. She kind of wanted to touch it. "Kind of cliche, is it not?"

Piper blinked. He'd asked her a question. "What?"

He frowned. "Nevermind that. Are you okay?"

Piper shot him a wry grin. "Are any of us really alright?"

At that, Jason must've realized that she was indeed quite alright, and hopefully, he hadn't noticed her uncomfortable staring. He hid a shy smile. "Okay, _Socrates_ ," he joked, shaking his head at her.

Piper beamed. "Actually, I prefer Diogenes and Voltaire."

Jason stared, before his expression morphed into thinly veiled amusement. "Of course you do."

Piper hid a frown, the stab of disappointment hitting her harder than she'd initially expected. "Aren't you going to ask why?"

He chuckled lightly. "I figured you were going to explain either way, so I might as well save my breath," he teased, and Piper was pleased to discover that was more behind the tough royal guard exterior.

"Good point!"

He laughed good naturedly, much to her delight.

"François-Marie Arouet!" Piper exclaimed. "Better known under the pseudonym of Voltaire. He wrote Candide, one of my favorite works," she explained. Jason leaned his head against the tree, sharing the bliss of the cool air underneath the dense leaves. He looked at her as she spoke, and though his unwavering eye contact made her slightly nervous, she pushed onwards.

"Gottfried William von Leibniz, a German philosopher and mathematician of Voltaire's time, developed the idea that, at the time, the world they were living in was 'the best of all possible worlds.' This systematic optimism is the philosophical belief that everything was already for the best, no matter how terrible it seemed. In this satire, and through his use of comical exaggeration, Voltaire showed the world full of natural disasters and brutality. Voltaire also used contrast in the personalities of the characters to convey the message that Leibniz's philosophy should not be dealt with any seriousness. It's much more funny than I make it sound," Piper briefly summarized. Jason still kept his attention on her, his lips curved up slightly in a way that made Piper's knees go weak. Stupid body parts, acting on their own accord.

"I think it sounds funny enough when you say it," Jason murmured, his hidden meaning not gone unnoticed by the feisty brunette.

"You're laughing at me!" she accused, but she was smiling.

"I am not," he promised, holding his hands up in surrender, but laughing nonetheless, and therefore disproving his ridiculous claim. "I just think it's captivating, charming really, how invested you are in these philosophies."

Piper fought a blush at his direct praise. He didn't even try to slyly disguise the compliments like those good-for-nothing royals. She prayed he thought it was a result of the heat outside.

"Keep going," he encouraged, tilting his head adorably. She suppressed the urge to touch him. He just drew her in with his scent, with _everything_ about him. It was nonsensical, Piper rationally knew that, but she couldn't help herself. Clasping her hands together and letting them fall in her lap in case any more body parts decided to do things by themselves without her brain's permission, Piper continued.

"And Diogenes of Sinope," she hesitated, but Jason just smiled to himself as if he knew something she didn't. He nodded a little, probably unknowingly reassuring her. "Plato once described man as a featherless biped, so Diogenes, pretty much the most passive aggressive, sassy guy in Ancient Greece, ran in with a plucked chicken shouting, 'Behold a man!' He's just so badass," Piper dropped a curse, but she was so invested in her storytelling that she didn't really seem to mind. Jason's facial expression only momentarily shifted, a change so miniscule, and then relaxed again, so she didn't think he seemed to mind too much. Good. Or else she wasn't sure how far she'd make it in this trip.

"Tell me more later," Jason requested, standing up, and brushing off his slacks. He held out his hand to help her up, and instead of snarkily snatching her hand back like she usually would have, Piper obliged, entranced by him. His hands were soft and warm, comforting. She tried not to linger too much. "I like your version of storytime."

The Princess's cheeks turned a light hue of pink. "Okay," she agreed, saddling her horse as he mounted his own. "But for now, we're racing against the clock."

"Indeed," Jason confirmed, glancing up at the sky once more. Night would fall upon them before they knew it, and they had to get a move on. "Ready?" he inquired, raising a perfectly arched blond eyebrow at her.

Piper felt like all the wind had been knocked out of her.

"Ready," she confirmed, if a little breathlessly, instead.

* * *

**Percy**

The first thing Percy felt was annoyance.

He supposed he should've been used to the feeling (anyone would be annoyed if they had to wake up early each morning to fake royals and stupid 'kingly' duties), but the sensation was dulled by a comforting warmth enveloping him. Namely, the rising sun, splaying orange and red hues across the woods in a brilliant display of nature, and of course, the delectable blonde gently sleeping on his shoulder. He inspected her for a moment, unable to help himself. She seemed so much different when asleep: her forehead was smooth, only traces, shallow indentations of her constant worry and anger etched into her tan skin; her eyelids twitched occasionally, almost as if she were thinking deeply even in sleep (Percy wouldn't have been surprised if she was); her carnation pink lips were slightly parted, occasionally forming the silent incoherent word or two; her figure was relaxed, draped carelessly over him, instead of her typical ready-to-fight posture; her hair fell in slightly frizzy rings, sprawled across the folds of her plain grey attire and dangling over his shoulder.

She was pretty- there he admitted it. But Percy had found that her beauty tended to fade away in the wake of her recent betrayal (and with his brother and the Amazons, of all people). Not to mention, the second she opened her mouth on that balcony, she had spit nothing but deception, pretending she loved him. Had she even cared about him at all? The inquiry left a bitter taste in his mouth. Suddenly cold with the turn of events, Percy pushed the Princess off his body, albeit gently, no longer relishing her touch.

Percy stretched, his back throbbing from leaning against a wooden door the entire night. His back released a satisfying crunch, ending the uncomfortableness and he cracked his knuckles, rising to his feet.

His natural brooding expression morphed into a deeper scowl as he surveyed his surroundings. The memories slowly came back to him in painful tsunamis. His mother was alive.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at both the soaked bandages across his torso, and at his mother's deception. Seemed like nobody was honest anymore. Not even his brother. Percy's fist went slack at the internal reminder of Luke. That blow had probably hurt the most. Choosing to momentarily forget the other aspects of his life that were so wrong (like Poseidon, like Luke, like Annabeth), he decided to focus on one issue at a time. After all, there was only one of him. First things first, Sally. He glanced down at Annabeth; he hoped she wouldn't wake up just yet. His mom and him really needed to talk, just the two of them. She had a whole lot of explaining to do.

And with his decision made, Percy rested his hand on the comforting hilt of his sword, perhaps the only stable thing in his life- Riptide- and pushed the front door to Sally and Paul's home open.

…

"Pancakes?" Sally queried the moment her firstborn walked in the door.

Percy blinked in bewilderment, his gaze shifting from his mother, standing in front of the stove in a navy and white striped apron with a silver spatula in her hand, to his baby sister, Estelle, who was happily devouring a syrup-coated stack of homemade blue pancakes. Paul was feeding her, pausing only for a moment to glance up at the son of Poseidon. He offered a tentative smile, but Percy didn't return it, already fed up with the day. Drew had once told him he looked like his father when he was in a mood. Percy had never wanted anything more in that moment that to _not_ look like his dead father. Absentmindedly, the dark-haired young man pondered over the Crown Princess of Sumisu for a moment, seeing as she'd completely slipped his memory in the chaos. The one good thing that had come out of this revolution was that he probably didn't have to marry her anymore. You know, because he was a terrorist. Fun.

"Blue?" he inquired, pursing his lips at his mother who had abandoned him, leaving him to fend for himself in a world of politics and crazies, at the ripe age of three. He wanted to hate her, he wanted to hate her _so_ much, but at the picture of her merrily cooking happy in front of him, his bitterness faded, if only for a moment. In the castle, she hadn't been allowed to cook often, Poseidon claiming it would be inappropriate. _We have chefs for a reason._ Percy had always thought Sally did it like nobody else though.

"Why change decades of tradition?" Sally chirped, noticing, but ignoring her son's subtle attitude.

"As if you know about tradition," Percy muttered, but his mother heard him. Obviously. She was his _mother._

"And so it begins," she smiled at him, and Percy realized just how much he'd missed his mother's happy-go-lucky outlook on life.

"You abandoned me," Percy ignored her commentary. Paul had wisely ducked his head, his attention solely focused on the oblivious two-year-old. Sally didn't look up, flipping another pancake onto a new stack and handing it to Percy. He stared down at the plate as if it held the answers to life.

"Sit down," she waved the spatula at the nearest chair at the dining table.

Every fiber in his body wanted to resist her demand, but Percy still remembered when he was younger and Sally had withheld dessert until he finished his entire meal, seated, like a big boy. She had been so proud and he'd gotten blue cake. Percy's sea green eyes glared at the chair. Mumbling something under his breath, he reluctantly sat down, sliding the plate onto the wooden table.

She beamed. "Continue, hon," she urged him as if he hadn't accused her of deserting him, and she returned to the stove.

Percy slowly poured syrup onto his pancakes, drowning them as he always did. It felt like he was shedding the last of his armor, and surrendering to his mother, but sue him for being hungry. Besides, it'd been a long time since he'd ate his mother's creations, fifteen years to be exact. The thought was sobering. And with that, he raised the food to his mouth, savoring the flavor. He nearly teared up, but forced himself to remain rigid, seemingly unaffected. This was fucking ridiculous. He had been one of the biggest royal children, the soon to be king of Poseidon's beloved Thasite, and he had been powerful beyond imagination. And here he was, following his mother's every whim. His words would have no effect if he was such a spineless idiot.

"You dumped me at age three," he picked off where he'd left off, "and ran away to God knows where apparently, because you certainly weren't dead like I'd been told. No wonder it had been closed casket," his expression hardened at the memory. "That casket used to give me nightmares, you know."

Sally's expression softened apologetically, but she said nothing.

"Did Father know you weren't dead?"

Slowly, she shook her head no.

"What about Chiron, your _blood_ brother?" Percy ignored the pain that jolted in his chest at the mention of blood brothers. Blood didn't mean family, Percy knew that now.

Again it was a no from her.

"Did _anyone_ know?" he hissed, rubbing his forehead anxiously. He was so angry, so upset, so nervous, so many things at once. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

"No," she murmured.

Percy paused, biting back an unkind retort, even though Sally full-well deserved it. No matter what, she was still his mother. He still remembered her gently bandaging his knee, feeding him, ruffling his hair, kissing his cheek in a way that should've made him a highly embarrassed toddler, but strangely never really had. He'd _adored_ her. She had been his favorite person in the entire freaking world, and he wouldn't have traded her for all the blue candy in the world, and then she'd died and it _crushed_ him. "I think you owe me an explanation," he whispered. He hesitantly poured more syrup on his pancakes, just so his hands would have something to do.

Sally looked him in the eye, blue eyes on sea-green. She sighed, turning to Paul. "Can you take Estelle outside?" she requested gently. "And maybe check on the Princess? Surely, she's woken up by now and is confused." Without a word, Paul stood, kissed her on the cheek, scooped up a squealing little girl who had finished breakfast, and walked out the door, leaving mother and son alone.

"Why did you do it?" Percy whispered, tearing his eyes away from hers as she cautiously sat down across from him. "Was I really that bad, mom?" His voice cracked and he felt shame bubble up in him.

She frowned at her son. "Oh no, Perce. It had nothing to do with you." He said nothing. "Percy, I was being hunted."

Percy didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. His head snapped up in surprise. " _What?"_

Sally bit her lip, a nervous habit Percy had missed only all too much.

"By whom?" he choked out, flabbergasted.

"I have no idea," she replied honestly. "But I got all sorts of threats, Perce. So I faked my death, fled to these woods."

"I knew they'd lied," he said suddenly. "They'd said you'd killed yourself. I knew it!" he felt like an elephant was pressing on his chest, weighing him down. His entire life, fifteen years of torture after her death, he'd thought she'd killed herself, and to get away from him, for being an imperfect child, to get away from these royal duties. She had not been born royal, only married into the lifestyle.

"I'm sorry," she was sympathetic, but Percy couldn't process it, not now, not yet. _Fifteen years._ And it was all a lie. "But I had to protect a child, dear, I had to protect _you_. I had to protect your father, may he rest in peace."

He stiffened at the gesture towards his passed father. "Why didn't you ever come back, then? If you were being hunted?"

"After I'd 'committed suicide,' I figured the hunter would think I killed myself because of their threats, frightened for what they were going to do. So then they'd probably stop searching for me. I'm safe here, hidden in the woods. But if I were to return to the castle, I'd first have to explain my fake death, which is a hassle in itself, and then the killer would be both ticked off, and begin to hunt me once more."

Percy fell silent. "I'm sorry for my previous behavior," he offered, at a loss for what to say regarding the rest of her story. Someone had pursuited his mother to _kill_ her; knots formed in the pit of his stomach. "I didn't know you were being hunted. I should've known you wouldn't have done something so drastic without a valid reason."

"Oh, please," Sally waved away his concerns, swiftly dismissing his apology. "I made my fair share of mistakes as well."

At that very moment, the door swung open with a soft creak, revealing the bedhead-ridden blonde. The pair of them stared up at her, and Sally set out another plate for the Princess.

"Good morning, Princess," she greeted the stunned blonde. There was a troubling look on her face, as if she'd just realized something bad.

"I'm not a Princess anymore, my Lady," she replied elegantly. Percy went back to picking at his pancakes. "You can call me Annabeth."

"And I'm no longer a lady of the royal court," Sally reminded her, sliding the syrup over to her. "Mrs. Blofis works just fine with me, or Ms. Jackson, if you prefer," she gestured to her son.

Annabeth narrowed her eyes at him, and Percy felt like he was wilting under her heated gaze. "I think I'll call you Mrs. Blofis; I've had my share of Jackson to last for a lifetime," she quipped, smirking at Percy, and then smiling at Sally before his mother could detect her sass. Percy rolled his eyes down at the table, his heart thumping faster and louder in his chest now.

"Coffee? Tea?" Sally kindly asked Annabeth.

"I'll take some coffee, thank you," she responded politely, her back stiff like a true royal, even here in commoner territory. She still acted like one of them in so many ways, Percy couldn't help but notice. "Black," Annabeth added, but when it came from her mouth, it didn't sound like an afterthought. _Like my soul_ , she mouthed at him, and he snorted inelegantly into his bite. The corner of her mouth curved up in amusement as she took the cup from his mother.

"So, Percy," she said louder now, probably so that Sally would hear. "Catch me up on the family drama, won't you?" she requested, and though he probably would've abolished anyone else for the comment on a clearly touchy subject, a recent wound, it wasn't so bad from her. He shook his head at her and launched into a thorough explanation, Sally interjecting details as he spoke, retelling his mother's tale.

She tilted her head at him in deep thought as he spoke, absorbing his information like a sponge, and realized she looked sort of cute like this. Percy swallowed down the realization as Sally talked. He was so fucked. Royally, irreversibly, completely fucked.

* * *

**Nico**

Luke's coronation would be tomorrow, he would be King now that his father was dead, and Nico honestly wasn't sure how to feel. It was… weird, to say the least. The younger Calbourne brother was certainly different, now with his true colors on display. He was quiet, lonely, in some ways, or so the son of Hades suspected, and Nico could almost relate to the young Prince. Nico couldn't help but recognize that look on Luke's face whenever they passed each other. After all, it was the same face Nico imagined he wore when he thought of a certain Prince. _Longing._ It was wistful, sad, angry, a million emotions plastered all at once, mixed in an ugly display of his heart. And while Nico couldn't quite decipher who Luke was so held up over, he had figured out his own emotions for a while now. And he fucking hated it. He hated _him._ He hated the older Prince for being so good, for being so strong, for his kindness. He hated his fucking face, and it certainly didn't help that he _had_ a handsome face.

Nico felt revolted by his own thought process. The ex-Prince haunted him even now, even a hundred thousand miles away from here, or wherever the hell he was. Here in the training room, Nico still could not find his own peace.

Every time he slashed at the training dummy, his sea green eyes came to mind. Steadying him, encouraging him to strike higher or lower, to give it his all, to not worry about hurting him. He was so different from his brother, and though Nico found some solace in their differences, in the fact that his heart didn't prick every time he laid eyes upon Luke- a reminder of his confusing emotions for another, but it was driving him nuts.

He couldn't afford to feel like this. But despite the hordes of girls Persephone rotated him through, none held a candle to the Prince. None smelled of the salty sea and fresh ocean air, none had his energy and natural charisma, and none were quite that sort of masculinity Nico admired. And therein lied the issue; Nico could not learn to love a female, try as he might.

He'd heard about this, this _disease_ that ate away at people like him. Men with men was not a reality he could embrace. The legends say the Gods created them to love the opposite, that the Greek Gods had created beings, those who were too powerful, and split them into two to minimize casualties, and so they were doomed to spend the rest of their lives searching for their better halves. Men and women, women and men. What was _wrong_ with him? Why couldn't he let this go? Why couldn't he just be normal? It was official; Nico was as straight as Annabeth's hair.

Bianca would've known what to do. But Bianca wasn't here anymore, and that only made it hurt worse.

In a fit of rage, Nico angrily sliced the dummy in two clean halves, right down the middle. He fumed silently. Why must the son of Poseidon invade his private thoughts like this? Why must he wake up in a cold sweat, images of the dark-haired boy pressing into him swirling like a hurricane in his brain? It was _sick. He_ was sick. Nico felt the familiar internal nausea building up again.

Slashing at the remains of the dummy, Nico fell apart, tears of frustration welling in his eyes. He glared at his hand, now injured as a result of his outburst. Lifting his soiled and bloody hands from the now stained hilt of his sword, he carefully examined the scars. Sharp and stinging, streaking across his hand like a crescent moon. A brilliant, garnet-and-ruby red moon. Cutting across his left hand in a neat row. Absentmindedly, Nico dug his fingernails into the clean wound, forcing more blood to haphazardly spill out.

It hurt, but Nico had found through the past few weeks that he really didn't mind so much. Good. Let the pain numb him until he couldn't feel anymore. He impassively squeezed tighter. His white skin turned red. Blood he no longer shared with a sister, blood he shared with a dead girl. His blood walked alone, and it spilled alone. His sword fell to the ground with a loud clang, but he hardly flinched.

"Sir?"

Nico spun at the interruption. He squinted at the young man in front of him, recognizing the fair, blond hair, sunkissed skin, and caribbean blue eyes after a moment. Nico was hit with the sudden realization that the boy in front of him, around his own age in fact, bore a striking resemblance to the young Calbourne Prince- Luke. But upon closer inspection, the Prince could clearly see the small, yet significant variations. For one thing, Luke was about a year older than him, so he was taller, and though this boy was still taller than Nico, Luke would easily have a couple inches on him. Where Luke felt cold, sending shivers down your spine whenever you passed him, the man in front of Nico radiated warmth, much like the sun in the sky emanated a pleasant heat, except in a less suffocating manner-

"May I help you?" Will Solace offered, pointing to the wound on Nico's palm, and effectively cutting his spiraling thoughts off. Nico blinked. Oh, right. Injury. Healer. Duh.

"How did you know I was injured?" Nico asked suspiciously. Did Athena and Frederick honestly just keep him hidden in the training room in case someone so much as scratched themselves? Back home in Pevanshire, Hades and Persephone did no such thing. Nico's mood soured at the thought of home, a place that was just now an empty castle without Bianca. He tried not to dwell on it too much, at least not here, not with Will watching him carefully, no doubt waiting for the darkness to escape the cracks in his facade. Nico stood stiff, holding his chin high with pride he didn't feel anymore.

"I heard you drop your sword, your Majesty," Will briefly explained. "My quarters are near the infirmary, and the stone walls are designed to just barely separate the infirmary from the training room for easy access during emergency situations."

Nico bit back an _oh_. He didn't want to sound like a child (though he nearly was, at least, in this world).

Will eyed him oddly, making Nico strangely self conscious. But before he could cover his hand and pray the castle healer would forget, or better yet, take a motherfucking hint, Will had already reached out, his fingers comforting and warm to the touch against the vulnerable inside of his pale, green vein-exposed, inner wrist. Nico felt the urge to pull away, immediately defensive to the touch of strangers. As if Will could sense the young Prince's discomfort, he rubbed soothing circles on his wrist. Working efficiently, Will bandaged his hand, cleaning the wound, and treating it appropriately. Five minutes later, Nico was staring blankly at his hand, surprised by the care in which Will had treated him.

"Thank you," Nico murmured, against his better judgement. Surely the healer would be weirded out, not used to gratitude for the higher ranks, but Nico had been raised differently. Bianca had always been a huge proponent of manners, though Nico had always felt it was less strange coming from her. She had been so genuine, so sweet, so unreal that it was hard to believe anything she did was anything less than natural. From Nico, it felt stiff, awkward, and foreign in his mouth. If Will noticed, he didn't say anything.

"You should be fine in an hour," Will promised. The healers were like magic, and they were chosen as castle healers for a reason. For some unknown reason, their touch was like magic, healing large wounds in a matter of hours, sometimes even minutes, leaving no trace behind. It was just another unexplainable phenomenon that they had always overlooked without another thought.

Nico just grunted, refusing to make eye contact with the kind healer.

Will smiled at him brightly anyways, and Nico couldn't help but wonder if _anything_ hurt that boy. What's more, he wasn't sure why he even cared. Of course, that was foolish. He didn't fucking care. He'd cared a whole lot about Bianca, and look where that landed the two of them, tragically apart like some stupid Shakespeare play. Nico scowled at his hand with resentment.

"Sir," he beamed, nodding a little, before spinning on his heels, and leaving the way he'd come. Nico felt pitiful for the sunny boy all of a sudden. He was still happy, like a little flower thriving in the sunlight with plenty of water. This world would crush him soon enough, bulldoze all over the cute little flower. Nico felt irrationally disappointed by the thought, almost like he wanted to _protect_ him or something, almost like he _cared_. But that image wasn't quite right. Nico didn't care about anybody or anything, not anymore, not ever again.

Nico found himself staring at that hand in equal awe about a half hour later, unwrapping the bandage to reveal smooth skin, just as good as it has been before sharp blades ripped at his calloused skin. And now, it was soft. For a moment, Nico thought he could still feel Will's skin on his, his gentle touch, his easy smile.

It was haunting, and terrifying, because Nico had been down this road only once before, and he wasn't sure he was ready for what was coming because this time would be the same outcome, he knew, only so much worse.

* * *

**Jason**

In the back of his mind, Jason could barely register Piper saying something about reaching the Amazons or something, but if he was being completely honest, he had absolutely no idea what she'd said. His mind was awfully… preoccupied, to say the least.

His sister was _alive_. She was alive. She was breathing. Her heart was beating steadily somewhere out there. And she was an _Amazon._

It went against everything Jason knew, but somehow, it was everything he had been waiting for all his life. They had been set up to fail, by the Gods, by fate, by a godforsaken _snowstorm_ the night Thalia was born, he didn't fucking know, but all he knew was that they'd been over the moment they began. And he could run as fast as he could, but somehow he could never quite catch up to the force that was his older sister. _A force not to be reckoned with_. But he would be there soon, at the Amazon camp, and even if they locked him up, killed him, he didn't care. He was finally breathing her in. He was drowning on her. And he'd found her now, so they didn't dare say it was too late. _Please._

He would beg for her on his goddamn knees if he had to, but as far as he knew, Beryl Grace was dead, and he had never known their father. She was all he had left, a shining beacon of hope in all this darkness that was to pass over them, and now that he knew Annabeth would be there too, amongst the golden warriors, it only reinforced this idea that Jason would finally be where he was almost meant to be- by Annabeth and Thalia's side. He would fight for them, a powerful asset, with plenty of royal knowledge. He would do whatever he had to do so that Thalia would not leave him again, so that Annabeth would be his best friend forever, for all of eternity, so that…

Jason stole a quick glance at the brunette beauty riding on a white stallion next to him. And perhaps he would stand by another soon enough.

Every time he remembered their encounter at the royal ball, his cheeks turned pink. He prayed that if she saw she thought the wind was making his cheeks cold. To be caught embarrassed would only heighten his embarrassment, but he couldn't help it. She'd been so unorthodox, so _real_ , and only the Gods knew just how badly Jason needed that something real in his life. An uncharacterized smile cracked through his impassive, royal guard facade, the small scar on his upper lip stretching with his suppressed smile.

Thalia was supposed to be dead. Annabeth was supposed to be a dead girl walking. And Piper was supposed to blend in.

Perhaps things were not as they seemed, perhaps this was a roller coaster that only ever went up. And Jason knew he was an optimist, maybe even to the point of delusion, but he'd always thought it smart to take pleasure in the little things in life. Who knew when you would next find solace in something, no matter how small? So as the darkness wrapped around him, he welcomed it with open arms, those blue eyes in his mind, his reason for pushing forward, his _cause_. He would see them again, he would squeeze the living hell out of the body those eyes belonged to, and soon. He would ruffle Annabeth's hair. He would befriend Piper if he was lucky. So it would be okay. Maybe not perfect, but okay.

And Jason had always thought that okay was a whole lot better than nothing.

* * *

**Malcolm**

For him, nothing would ever be the same again, though he suspected it was like that for everyone else too. Especially Nico. Guilt flooded his senses at the reminder of the young Crown Prince, and the fate of his older sister, of Malcolm's own betrothed.

He felt sort of sick when he thought about her. Her funeral would be in two days time, and Malcolm wasn't sure he would make it out _alive._ Bianca and him had never really gotten the true chance to get close before her demise, but he'd _felt_ close to her, it was just the way she had made him feel, had made everyone she let in feel like. It was nauseating. Night after night he was plagued with the same pictures in his head of a bloody Princess, a sister on the run with a traitor, a grieving little brother, a dead father, and a new King for Thasite. Every time he fucking _closed_ his eyes, he could see it all playing out, and in the end, it finished the same way. No matter whose deaths traded off, the conclusion did not falter; Malcolm could not save them all. Could not save Nico, and his parents, and Annabeth, and Perseus, and Bianca (who he had already failed), and _himself._ This was the end, more or less.

He wanted so badly to fight in the wars coming upon them, to fight for something, to feel _alive_ one last time before he wasn't. He dreamed of dying on his feet like a martyr, but he couldn't because _dying is easy, young man, living is harder._ Malcolm swallowed thickly, hardly listening to the royal court. Tomorrow Luke would have his coronation for Thasite, and he would attend, standing stoically next to King Frederick, his hand impassively placed on Queen Athena's shoulder in a false pretense of comfort. Why give comfort where there was none? Why give hope where none was deserved?

And Annabeth.

What was he to say? He'd chosen against her in the end, and deep down, Malcolm had always known it would come to this- his country, his people, his parents, or his sister. He had known when he spent his nights worrying to Bianca about his little sister's rash behavior. He had known when Annabeth interrupted the board meetings and he'd had to keep quiet. He had known when Annabeth had a little outburst at that breakfast so long ago, what felt like _ages_ ago, and he'd sided with Perseus. This was the natural order of things. And even then, even if he would not have admitted it unless there was a sword pressed to his throat, he had known the answer all along.

He would choose his land, he would choose his defensiveless people who were fucking _counting_ on him to lead them through this war to victory, to heaven, to a safe haven. But it had never felt more real than when he'd had to look Princess Piper in the eye and tell her _no_ , _may my prayers be with my dear sister, may the Gods know what the hell is going through her mind, but no, I will not be coming with you_.

Malcolm had always been a worrier, and he was well aware of his worrying- a fact that was so _kindly_ pointed out by his sister so long ago.

" _You look stressed."_

" _I am not."_

" _You are, too. I bet you even have grey hairs," she smirked._

" _I do not!" he proclaimed indignantly._

" _Want me to ask your servants? Settle this once and for all?"_

" _No!"_

_She laughed, throwing her head back in that way he loved. "So I win."_

" _No…"_

" _Yes," she mocked, flicking him on the forehead. A begrudging smile reached his lips._

Annabeth had never been a worrier. Malcolm had always admired that a whole lot about her. Maybe she made rash decisions, maybe she didn't always think things through, consider the consequences, but he _loved_ her for it- no- he loved her _regardless_ of it. He remembered spending his childhood desperately wishing he could've been as intelligent as her without having to think it through as much, without having to take his time.

He wished she'd taken her time before joining the Amazons. He would never see her again, not now, not until she was on the other side of the battlefield and they were face to face, blood dripping down their weapons, fearful of each other, fearing to harm each other, but knowing that they had committed to opposite worlds, and that this was the punishment for their decisions.

Malcolm pursed his lips, realizing he had not listened to one word of the royal council's meeting. And right then and there, he made the first hasty decision he'd made in a long time, maybe even in forever (and forever was an awfully long time, he had realized when thinking of Bianca, of Annabeth, of Perseus, of Nico, of his parents, of lots of things that lasted forever).

When push came to shove, and Annabeth stood on the other side of the battleline, he would let her kill him. Better to die than to remember her life fading before his eyes from his own hand. If she were to die, he would really be the one who paid for it. So he would die for her. He would die for his love of his sister in the end.

What was he to say? He'd chosen her in the end, and deep down, Malcolm had always known it would come to this- his country, his people, his parents, or his sister. He had known when he spent his afternoons wishing he was anywhere but stuck in Kingly duties, with his sister instead. He had known when he had interrupted the board meeting and left in search of Annabeth, because he simply could not bear to argue of arbitrary topics for another couple hours, only to break, and regroup, and do it all over again. He had known when he had a little outburst at lunch with the current Kings so long ago, what felt like _ages_ ago, and he'd stood his ground, remembering his sister's wise words before entering that fucking _stage_ where puppets obediently played their parts. This was the natural order of things. And even then, even if he would not have admitted it unless there was a sword pressed to his throat, he had known the answer all along.

He would choose his sister above all else. Over his land, over his defensiveless people who were fucking _counting_ on him to lead them through this war to victory, to heaven, to a safe haven, over it _all_ , he would choose Annabeth. His world began and ended with Annabeth, always only ever her. Because that's what love meant to him, to her, that's what true loyalty was. And for her he would lay down his life. For her, he would give it all away to see her standing. For her, he would breathe his last breath.

 _We will ascend,_ she'd told him so long, when she'd broken his heart into a million pieces, when she'd made his choice clear for him, when she'd told him she'd found her cause, her purpose for being. _For gold and glory._

Malcolm clenched his jaw, the promise burning deep in his chest as he realized the weight behind it, the blood that would spill, _his_ own, and all that vow entailed. His mantra might have been a little different than the one beating in Annabeth's heart, but it meant just as much to him as her Amazons meant to her: _For her._

* * *

**Annabeth**

"So what now?" Annabeth breathed out once she was all caught up. Her mind was whirring with the new information, desperately trying to figure out Sally's situation. Who would have wanted to kill her, she who had been nicknamed the Kind Queen? It was a mystery to her, and Annabeth had never liked not knowing things.

"We're going to the Amazons, right?" Percy cleared his plate, and then hers as well. She muttered out a reluctant, quiet thank you.

"You're still going?" she asked, surprised.

"Of course," he glanced at his mother, and she smiled reassuringly at him. It was still strange to see the former Queen. Annabeth had been too young when Sally had 'died,' and she barely remembered the funeral, but she'd heard only the best of things about her. "My cause has not changed. Democracy, we promised," he breathed, and something in her ribcage melted at the hopeful look on his face. She ignored the organ-melting feeling. Rationally speaking, organs didn't really melt. Stupid, charming face.

"Well, I'm glad," she begrudgingly admitted. She would've missed him, and though she would've understood his decision to stay with his mother, his generous step-father, and little sister, she knew it was the truth. "But no, the Amazons are the second stop," she announced, and this was even news to Percy. She had been sitting on the front porch after waking up alone, stewing over all that she knew. They had to figure out this monster thing, they _had_ to. Percy raised a questioning eyebrow. "The monsters."

Percy's lips twisted into a frown. "The hydra," he recalled. "It's not real. It shouldn't have been."

The blonde nodded vigorously. "Right. But the fact is, it _was_ real. And that's terrifying. And nobody's heard of this phenomenon." She looked at Sally who remorsefully shook her head no, confirming her statement.

"But-" Sally spoke now. "I have heard of people seeing _something._ Even if nobody saw the mythical monsters you speak of, I've heard of another monster."

Annabeth and Percy both looked at her in a split second. She had not known about this. "What do you mean?"

"But it was a long time ago," Sally conceded. "I remember hearing about some scary stories when I was younger, just a little girl in the villages. There's more forest behind these woods, endless acres," she explained. "When we circled around campfires, the older children would tell stories of an unnamed figure with two horns on his head, and he supposedly knew everything about every myth ever told. Said he was terrifying, that his eyes alone would make you faint. That you'll know when you're nearing his territory; it's extremely hot there. He supposedly resides in the thick of the forest, somewhere closer to the center of the forest, where there is no other civilization, away from the streams. They say he chokes his trespassers with the heat and then they're never heard from again."

Annabeth blinked. "So if this guy exists, and he supposedly knows everything about myth ever told, he might know why we're seeing monsters," she deduced.

Sally slowly nodded. "But it's just a children's tale. I don't know how much is real, if _any_ of it is. And for your sake, I _hope_ some of it isn't true," she gnawed on the bottom of her lip nervously. Out of the corner of her eye, Annabeth saw Percy swallow thickly.

"It doesn't matter," she decided, her mind made. She hoped desperately that she wasn't signing her death warrant. "It's a chance, and no matter how small, I must take it. Monsters should _not_ exist. At least, not like this. The only monsters in this world are our inner demons and the bloodthirsty beasts who create these wars, who sit on thrones." She did a onceover of Percy. He had fallen silent at her words and accusations of the royals. A wise decision, she thought. "And you, you're injured. I'm going alone." Suddenly, he wasn't so quiet anymore.

"Are you insane?" he protested almost immediately. "You're not fucking going alone." Neither woman flinched at his vulgar terms, Annabeth used to it, and Sally seemingly uncaring. She didn't seem like the type of lady to get easily bothered by much, Annabeth had figured out. "You'll die before you even make it to the center of the forest," he scoffed.

Annabeth's eyes flashed in false anger. Would the stupid, thick-headed idiot just let her save him, just this once? For all he had given for her? To allow her this small repayment that still didn't cover all his generosity? "And that's final," she hissed, spinning on him.

His eyes lit up in return and he chuckled darkly. "No the fuck it is not. I'm coming and I'm helping. We're in this together, remember?"

She momentarily softened at his sweet words, but hardened when she saw him wince at his bandages brushing uncomfortably over his sensitive skin. "Oh, please. You can hardly bear the pressure of the bandages," she pointed at his chest, and he glared at her. His glare was chilling, but she swallowed her fear, praying that she wouldn't crack under the pressure. They indulged in a silent staring content, her jaw set and eyes fiery, his gaze colder than Antarctica and his lips pressed into a thin line.

After a few minutes of his uncomfortably cool stare on her, she angrily caved. It seemed her decision wasn't so final after all. Stupid Prince. "Fine. Fine! Fuck, you can come along," she relented, crossing her arms over her chest.

His lips twisted into an uncharacteristic, victorious grin. If she'd known he would've smiled this gorgeously, she would've caved a long time ago. She irrationally worried he could hear her heartbeat, the wild palpitating roaring alongside her blood in her ears.

"Excellent," he drawled, pleased with her answer. She rolled her eyes. "I'll be back, Mom," he turned to Sally, and all of a sudden, Annabeth felt like she was intruding on a personal family moment. Even though the three of them knew Percy might die, it felt like a promise she was more than willing to hang onto. "I have a baby sister whose affection I have yet to win. And I swear, I'm going to be her favorite, just you watch," he was so good at lightening to mood, and Annabeth found a grin spreading across her face, his smile ridiculously infectious. It seemed his mother wasn't resistant to his powerful emotions either. A tiny smile quirked up at the corner of her lips.

"And," he looked at Sally once more, thoughtful. "I changed my mind. I think I will take that coffee, after all. A little sugar and cream please," he requested, grinning wickedly at her when Sally beamed and went to get him a drink. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the smile. _Sweet like me,_ he mouthed teasingly, and she felt her face flush pink. That fucker had some audacity. She sneered at him, childishly sticking her tongue out. (They were both children half the time, okay? And that was okay, too.)

Percy took a large sip, an obnoxiously loud one at that. Annabeth felt her eye twitch in disdain. He smirked her, knowing exactly what he was doing. "First coffee, then murder," he murmured cheerily, and she rolled her eyes so hard that for a moment, she was frightened they would fall out. Sally excused herself to go check on her husband and daughter. The blonde bid her a polite smile as she parted from the pair.

"I think I'll go shower," Annabeth sniffed, concealing an amused expression at Percy. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she thought he was funny. He already thought he was too funny for his own good. Idiot.

Percy was thoughtful. "Maybe I'll join you," he winked.

Annabeth's face turned bright red, scandalized at his forwardness. "You have no shame!" she berated, hiding her face and scampering off to the shower. She could hear him laughing behind her as she excused herself.

Annabeth groaned into her hands as she let the water rain over her, embarrassed by her reaction to his teasing. She was positive that boy was going to be the death of her. _It was nice playing with you. But I play to win_ , she remembered his words on that goddamn dance floor. Suppressing a shudder at his suave attitude, she scrubbed herself cleaning, hoping to scrub the memory of her pressed against the wall, his sinful lips fervent and demanding on her own, away. Her face had turned pink once more just thinking of their secret passion in that abandoned room.

Annabeth groaned, and she swallowed down the realization as she showered. She was so fucked. Royally, irreversibly, completely fucked.


	12. Hell Is Just A Sauna

**Nico**

" _You_ will _meet her, and you will like it. I know Bianca's absence has been hard on you, but you cannot just dismiss all your duties. You will be King soon. Loss is part of life, and it will hurt, but you must move on. Perhaps all this foolishness will dissipate after tomorrow, after her funeral. Perhaps you just need closure. I hardly think it matters. She will be here this evening."_

Nico buried his face in his hands, exhaling slowly. Needless to say, his talk with Persephone hadn't gone well. He was to put his sister in a grave the next day, and entertain some girl tonight, someone he would probably be expected to marry soon. How twisted is that? How had his entire life turned to shit? His head pounded. Usually, he would welcome the pain with open arms, the tangible feeling reminding him that he was still alive, no matter how much he wished he wasn't. It would help him keep his grip on reality, but not tonight. Tonight he had to entertain his mother's whims and pretend to fancy some _girl._ He didn't even _like_ girls. And therein lies the issue.

Nico stood, swinging open his bedroom door.

"Get me a healer," he snapped, and then slammed the door shut again. Those guys were magic, perhaps they could heal his broken heart while they were at it. His lips curved up in a humorless smile. Hopefully, they wouldn't send the castle healer. The smile dropped instantly at the thought of his soft-looking hair, his easy smile, his charm. He didn't remind him of Percy at all, which should've made Nico feel better, but honestly, it only made him ache worse. Because this healer, Will Solace he'd figured out was his name, he was so much more _dangerous_ than Percy. Because it wasn't supposed to be like this, and he wasn't supposed to plague his thoughts all the fucking time from one motherfucking, puny interaction in which Nico had probably acted like a total bastard anyways.

Nico scraped his nails deep into his scalp, drawing blood. He didn't flinch. Blood, he'd found, didn't bother him anymore. Not since he'd found his sister in a pool of her own blood. It was surprisingly cold, blood, and it gleamed scarlet like a pretty flower.

When Nico looked at the men older than him, he wondered how much time he truly had left. He really wasn't sure how long he could do this, hanging on barely by a thread. He didn't do drugs, like those Kings who drowned themselves in glasses of whisky at the end of the day behind closed doors, but he was addicted to the pain. He kept telling himself it was a habit he wanted to break, but every day he needed his fix, a little more than the day before. And a little more blood found its way, rising to the surface of his skin in mysterious new cuts and bruises, the souvenirs he kept from drilling himself in a dark training arena, all by himself.

Tapping at the door jolted him out of his little daydream.

"It's open," he called out, his voice raspy. The door swung up open slowly, and immediately he regretted his decision to seek help for his migraine. Fuck. There he was in all his blond perfection. Nico dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw dark spots.

"I heard you had a bit of a bad headache," Will said kindly. He softly closed the door. Nico scowled at the ground.

"That would be correct."

"My suggestion would be to simply sleep it off, sir," Will suggested. "I'm aware it's unorthodox to sleep in the middle of the day, and I understand the royals will probably frown upon it, but I can release you from your duties with a doctor's note, if you'd like," he offered.

"I can't," said Nico, his voice devoid of emotion. "I have business to attend to in a couple hours. I need a quick fix." He met Will's baby blue eyes and regretted that too. Now he could not look away without looking weak, and damn it because Will _made_ him weak.

"Sir, I must strongly advise you to cancel all further business for the day. You need rest," he murmured gently, soothingly.

"I can't."

"Why not?" Will countered, surprising Nico. Nobody ever dared question him. If he said no, that was that. He would be King, nobody dared disrespect him when he would soon have so much power and could fuck them up once on the throne. Hades was a man of justice and his son had been raised the same way, with a memory just as sharp, and a sense of right and wrong implanted in every cell in his body. Which is why that made this _so_ hard. This was too wrong.

"My mother is demanding that I meet a Duchess this evening," Nico admitted, quite bluntly.

"Oh." The tips of Will's ears turned pink and Nico couldn't help but smile a tiny bit at that. Will had probably not expected him to be so forthcoming. "I see. That's quite a pickle you've gotten yourself in, then."

"Indeed."

"Maybe I can find some medicine to help you kick the feeling," Will acquiesced. "I usually try to avoid pills or potions on the norm, but I think we can make an exception in this case."

"Thank you," Nico whispered, so faintly he was afraid Will would not hear. Again, it was odd to thank your lower ranks, but it was instilled in him, this desire to keep his sister's memory alive, her stubborn need to treat everyone as an equal. She would have made a good Amazon, Nico realized with a start. The irony was not lost on him. He scowled darkly, hating himself, and hating the Amazons, and hating Will, and hating this cruel world that left siblings tragically stranded and apart in two worlds that would perhaps never meet. Nobody knew what came after death, not really. It was a sobering thought. Will's calm steadiness snapped him out of his reverie; as weird as it was to thank lower ranks, it was that much weirder to speak out of turn, or respond to a higher rank. It seemed Will didn't follow the norm either.

"It's no problem, sir. It's my job to help people." The corners of his eyes crinkled and Nico felt warm all over, like the sunrises in the mornings he no longer noticed and appreciated because he didn't sleep at night to wake up with something beautiful that was a sunrise.

"And sir?"

Nico looked up.

"Good luck with the Lady." He smiled a little, amused perhaps by the image of Nico entertaining some fancy girl. Then he bowed his head and walked out the door, leaving a perplexed soon-to-be King on his own bed with a small, white pill in the palm of his hand.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"You know, curiosity killed the cat," Percy stated loudly, making Annabeth jump despite herself. She wasn't a scaredy-cat, no way, not ever. But Sally didn't seem like the type to lie, and if her stories were true even in the _slightest_ , Annabeth had every right to be a tad on the jumpy side. Or so she told herself.

Annabeth rolled her eyes, feigning impassiveness. "That's not even the full saying, dumbass," she quipped.

Percy grinned darkly. "I'm assuming you're going to bestow your knowledge upon me, then, oh great know-it-all," he teased.

Annabeth's eyes shot daggers at him and he held his hands up in mock surrender, the son of a bitch. "Curiosity killed the cat, but _satisfaction brought it back_ ," the blonde completed the phrase for him, sniffing haughtily just for show.

He laughed immediately, quickly morphing it into a poorly faked cough. She frowned; she hated to be laughed at.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, momentarily pausing their trek through the woods to sternly plant her feet and put her hands on her hips in annoyance.

"Nothing," he coughed, choking over his amusement. Annabeth bit her bottom lip.

"Don't lie to me," she accused, crossing her arms across her chest.

He shook his head. "It's nothing, it's just- satisfaction, really? What kind of satisfaction could you _possibly_ get from seeking out a crazy old dude in the woods? Have you never read stories? Oh, right. The great Annabeth Chase doesn't read fairy tales, my bad. I bet you grew up watching documentaries," he smirked.

Annabeth pressed her lips together because there was no way in hell she was going to admit that, yes, she had read the archives on politics from the time she could read, had learned to sound out the big words, and they had been her first 'books.' Asshole.

He correctly interpreted her silence as confirmation for his previous statement, and his smirk only widened in a lazy smile that made her heart beat faster in her chest. "Well, anyways. In these stories that normal people read for _enjoyment_ , though that word is probably not in your dictionary-"

"-it would serve you well not to make assumptions, Mr. Jackson," she interrupted, but he just grinned in that way that made her knees felt like jelly despite herself, and continued.

"They always go into the woods," he gestured with his hands in a way that was strangely endearing.

" _They?_ " Annabeth inquired, and was promptly ignored.

"And then some _genius_ always proposes the idea of splitting up. The stupidest one of the bunch, typically the one who thought of the idea of splitting up in the dark, scary woods, usually dies first. Walks into a room with chainsaws or something and mildly wonders why there's chainsaws, calls out for family members and friends as the music heightens and then," Percy drew his pointer finger across his neck, chuckling at the dark joke. Annabeth's mouth fell open in slight horror and surprise at how easily he joked about death. "Then," he continued, "the one racially diverse person with a thick accent is the second to go because they can't kill off minorities first, that looks racist," the ex-Prince pointed out, and at this point, Annabeth was a little shell-shocked.

He didn't really seem to have a filter, or care much either. On one hand, it was admirable that he spoke only the truth, bluntly, but ever honest. But on the other hand, it was a bit disquieting, the ease with which is joked about the demise of fictional characters, and the racial portrayals in story books. Suddenly, she realized he'd still been talking, and she'd zoned out. Snapping her head back up, and praying he hadn't noticed, the blonde trained her steely silver eyes on him again.

"-but those demons are usually like a hundred dollars are something, and so fake it's funny. And then it either ends with _everyone_ dying, my personal favorite, because honestly they were all dumbasses to do all this shit anyways," he added thoughtfully. " _Or,_ like two people survive, and apparently we never hear about their PTSD and follow-up therapy. They really should make sequels. Imagine how entertaining _that_ would be." He finally looked up at her, as if acknowledging her presence for the first time.

Annabeth blinked. "You're crazy," she said immediately.

He cracked a smile and tilted his head to one side slightly. "Really?" he drawled, clearly poking fun at her. "Whatever could give you that impression? I'm sure my father would have had me tested if that was the case, now, Princess."

"How can you joke about demise like that?" she murmured, rethinking her life choices.

"Well," Percy looked up for a moment, as if considering her comment carefully. "We're all going to die anyways, so might as well make the best of it, should we not?"

Annabeth scoffed in disbelief, and slight amusement. "Quite the nihilist, aren't you?" She pushed a low-hanging, gnarled branch out of her face, and subconsciously held it out of the way for Percy too, instead of whacking him in the abdomen with it.

He shrugged, grinning a little. "A little dark humor never hurt anyone."

"It clearly hurt the people in the woods," she murmured under her breath, but she suspected he heard it, for his grin fractionally widened.

"Besides, in a world turned to hell, why not make fun of all that goes wrong? There's certainly no use dwelling on what we cannot change," Percy reminded her, and Annabeth was caught off guard by the philosophical change to his tone, and more so, by how much it made sense. She supposed he wasn't entirely wrong. Sometimes, though she would never admit it out loud, she forgot how smart Percy really was. He hid it behind jokes, highly inappropriate flirting, and cold, indifferent silence, but Malcolm's words were never too far from her. Percy was a military warrior, a hero, a strategist said to rival her own blood, her own house, despite his family having _nothing_ to do with intelligence.

What he said made sense, really. "That's just being cynical," she said instead. She'd been shooting him down the past few days, and though she couldn't exactly pinpoint why that feeling came over her, she had a well enough hunch. She imagined she couldn't stand him just because he didn't seem to _care._ Annabeth couldn't fathom it. How could he let his entire life slip through his fingers so easily and here she was, supposedly the more intelligent of the two, and she was holding onto her old life with white knuckles? It was pathetic; _she_ was pathetic. So she insulted him all day and night, she kept her distance, afraid that he could get too close and leave her stranded like everyone else. And he didn't flinch. Her words bounced off him like it was nothing, and that only infuriated her _more._

"You know what your problem is?" he disrupted her train of thought.

"Excuse me?" she squeaked out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him.

"Your problem," he restated, pursing his lips.

"Well, I guess-"

"-no," he chuckled. "I'm going to tell you what your issue is. I have you all figured out, Miss Chase, whether you like it or not."

Oh.

He grinned at the uneasy look on her face, only making her scowl deeply. "You care too much about what others think," Percy stated, and Annabeth blinked in surprise. She would've said her pride was the biggest issue, in all honesty. She'd spent her time obsessing over this irrational need to _hurt_ him, and in her effort to stay away, he'd solved her. She was dumbfounded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," he shrugged. "You care too much about others and their opinions. And you say you don't, but you do, and it's so fucking obvious that it's kind of sad. You pretend to dislike my twisted jokes because the royals would frown upon you back in the castles for laughing at such dark humor, but secretly, you're just as tired of bullshit as I am, but you can't admit it, because pride- oh yeah, that's another thing with you isn't it?"

Her lips parted in bewilderment. He'd finally risen to her bait, and took a shot at her in return. But he had struck gold.

"You pretend that you care only for the Amazons because you want to fit in _so_ badly with them, but in reality, you really do care for your brother and it tears you apart inside, but you won't admit it, because of course- pride."

Perhaps he was more insightful than she'd perceived him as well. Her throat felt really dry all of a sudden, like the Sahara desert.

"You pretend nothing hurts you because you don't want to be one of those damsels in distress, but you really carry a lot of emotional baggage. It hurts when nobody takes you seriously, it hurts when your brother picked me over you at that breakfast- don't think I forgot about that, it hurts that your parents will always pick Malcolm over you because he's a boy and he's older, and you're meant to be married off to another rich asshole not unlike myself."

He even _called_ himself an asshole. Who did that?! What the fuck.

"It hurts that your father doesn't fucking love you enough, never enough, because Kings will _always_ choose their kingdoms over their children, especially a daughter that talks out of turn, so to speak."

She swallowed hard as he nailed her like a butterfly in one of those cruel glass cases. Cages, more like.

"It hurts that Athena-"

"- _Queen_ Athena," she corrected almost automatically, out of habit rather than choice, her voice devoid of emotion, and her face blank.

He shook his head at her, pitifully. It made her angrier than it should've. "She's not my Queen; she never was. And if you really love the Amazons as much as you claim, she isn't yours either." It was a tough pill to swallow, but it was true.

"It hurts that Athena," he continued, "never viewed you as anything more than a bargaining chip, and instead of spending your childhood training you to be like her- all you've ever wanted to be- she sold you to my mother for a political alliance. To an _enemy_ for political alliance, because let's be honest, your mother hates my guts. But let's move on past your emotional baggage, shall we? Or we'll be here all day," he said it so casually, it struck another blow in itself.

"You pretend you hate me, hate my very soul, but in reality you actually are quite envious of me. I wouldn't be if I were you, but I'm not. You're envious because I have this _power_ that you'll never quite have, not in this divided world, because I do as I please, speak as I want, especially now that I'm out of that royal, gilded cage. And you 'hate' me because you're expected to, because if anyone knew that you don't, they would castrate you. Because you care so _deeply_ about others' opinions despite lying to yourself that you don't, since you're so keen on being your own person, your own woman, and it makes you weak. And because you care so much about what other people think, you've never really lived your own life, and you never will, and even with the Amazons, you care what they think. You pray they think you're valuable, because you know just as well as I do that if you're useless, you're dead, and because you're tired of being overlooked and underappreciated, you want to be accepted by them because you have nowhere else to go- you turned your back on family. You can't be yourself, ever, because you are so worried everyone will hate you, that you will never get anywhere, you live for others, and so you will be green-eyed with jealousy for me, for forever, Princess, I promise. Because I've never cared, and you hate me for it because I'm what you'll never become. And since I don't care, I'm myself, always and completely. _That's_ your problem."

Annabeth felt like all the breath inside of her had been stolen by him, a heart thief, a soul criminal, and a knocker of wind. She hadn't known what she'd been expecting coming deep into these damp woods, but it had certainly not been a psychological evaluation by the ex-Prince, a boy she'd never given much credit, she was just now realizing. Unwanted emotions surged up in her, hitting her like a fucking tsunami of hurt, and fragility. And when she finally caught her breath-

"Why would you say that to me?" she breathed, her eyes feeling glossier than usual. She blinked and it was gone. She didn't feel so strong for once. "Why- how would you even know that? How do you know so much about me?" She realized her mistake only all too late; by asking him to explain his dead-accurate explanation of her essence, she had inadvertently confirmed that everything he had said was indeed, spot on, giving him this power over her, handing over her weaknesses so easily. She hated herself for it. She hated him for knowing her.

"Because it's true, isn't it?" he murmured, slashing some stubborn vines out of their path. The shade felt too cool on her back.

"Not everything true should be spoken aloud," she whispered, irrationally hurt by his honesty, though she knew it was silly. She insulted him endlessly and most of it was nonsensical. She preached honesty, and so she refused to cry over it. She could wear her heart on her sleeve just this once. It was not how she had been taught, but what was she to do if your opponent pried your heart out of your chest and deliberately sewed it on that sleeve? She highly doubted that was the sort of thing to be covered in her etiquette class with Madame Reme.

"Why not?" he inquired, but it didn't seem like he was talking to her, rather to himself. "It's the truth, is it not?"

Annabeth was quiet, and maybe he sympathized with her, but he decided to have mercy on her heart. "I told you because I don't know what we're going up against, what we will go up against in this journey to the Amazons, in a journey past it, and if we're still in this together-" he hesitated, as if he'd just realized that they might not be anymore, not after he called her out on her bullshit.

"We are," it was barely a whimper from her.

"Then," he continued, his voice gentle, and kinder than it had been before- his blunt tone. "I don't know what's to come, but I do know that we cannot afford weakness, not in this cruel world. You know what kindness and weakness gets you," he glanced at her pointedly, and she knew deep down that he was referring to his betrayal of his own blood, his very own brother. A sharp pang struck through her chest at the reminder of her naïveté. "And I thought you should know that you shouldn't give a shit what anybody says. That your little mask will kill you before any other weapon," Percy murmured, and for a moment, Annabeth could understand where he was coming from.

He didn't intend to hurt her feelings, but to spare her of future pain, rather. Somehow the knowledge that he wasn't purposefully trying to wound her settled her, calming her prior pain. It faded to a dull numbness, a more familiar feeling, a feeling she carried with her always and forever. One she suspected she always would, like him, like Percy carried his burdens like a true trooper.

"Okay," she exhaled.

"Okay?" he sounded almost nervous. He must have realized he had unintentionally hurt her more than he'd wanted to, even if only for a moment. For Annabeth had no doubt he'd tried to hurt her, hurt her for all she'd hurt him in the short time they'd been escaping together. However, she imagined her betrayal had hurt more than any of her words could.

"Okay," she said, and it felt like a promise when she met his eyes. His sea green eyes swirled with worry, but she just looked away. He was right; weakness was never an option and never would be. "Now," she changed the topics eagerly. "We've got some mythical ass to kick."

She wasn't sure if she'd imagined it, but somewhere on her right, she thought she heard a _damn straight._ It brought a smile to her face, despite herself. Those monsters were going to wish they had never been born at all.

* * *

**Malcolm**

There was something so fundamentally wrong about him standing there where the passed King Poseidon once stood, where Perseus was meant to take the royal oath instead. Instead stood a shorter, younger, lesser brother, one more vengeful than he let on, or so Malcolm expected. Annabeth was rash and stupidly brave, but that didn't make her a liar, nor an idiot. There was no way there wasn't _some_ truth behind her warnings and claims of the soon to be boy King. But it wasn't like Malcolm could say anything. She'd picked her side, and he wasn't on it. And he'd done the same, don't think he'd ever play the role of the victim.

Luke's coronation was toned down in light of his father's passing and his brother's 'betrayal.' It was live streamed across the various nations, putting his kingship on full display, the public's first look at the man who would lead the people of Thasite.

"In brightest day,

There will be light,

To cleanse the soul,

And set wrongs right,

When Darkness falls,

Look to the ocean,

A new wave comes,

Let there be light."

It felt cold in the palace of Thasite. Malcolm pretended to listen as the high priest recited Thasite's scroll for a new King. Instead, he was watching as mouths moved across the sea of people huddled closely back in the palace, all murmuring 'let there be light' in echo to the high priest. Some of the eyes of the children were glazed over, as if they were _brainwashed_ or something. Malcolm felt bile rise in his throat.

This had been happening to him a lot more, more with each day that Annabeth was gone, nothing but her hushed promises to haunt him. She had warned him that it was twisted, and ever since, all he saw was the horror in everything that played out in these royal halls.

Luke fell to one knee, his eyes closed, his chin tilted down to the ground in respect. His collar was decorated with diamonds, and as another priest carried away his older Prince crown, the high priest placed the new on atop his blond hair, swept artfully into his piercing blue eyes. The King's crown was bigger, taller, and sharper. It was studded with lavish white and blue diamonds and the skeleton of the crown was made of pure white gold. Expensive benitoite adorned the crisp peaks. It was all hard lines and intricate designs. The crown shifted on his head by its own accord, a bit too large for the young King's head. Surrounded by the glow of hundreds of candles and massive fountains, lighting up the throne room in a spectacular display of fire and Thasite's raging seas, the crown appeared like a white and blue crystal band,a halo, on the newfound King's golden bed of hair. Sunlight streamed through the towering glass windows, making the diamonds shimmer across the royal blue velvet carpet from the front of the throne room all the way to the back. The sunlight broke into different shards, and every time Luke moved his head, the light morphed across the room in different patterns.

And then he rose to his foot, his orbs the exact same shade as the blue diamonds on his head, and it felt like all the blood in Malcolm had froze, his nerves going numb down to the very bone. His mouth felt very dry, looking at this young boy who was suddenly a man with too much power, power that Malcolm would soon share, taking the place of King Frederick, and together they'd lead a new land, nations united by Queen Athena, and Malcolm knew with a certainty all of a sudden that whatever happened was out of his hands. It was beyond him.

 _Do not let the gentle trickle of a stream allow you even for a moment to underestimate the chaos that is the ocean_ , Annabeth's words ghosted him, and he pressed his lips tight together. _It was beyond him_ , and he exhaled harshly once more.

 _It's beyond me._ It was not his fault he couldn't control the entire world, and kingdoms would fall, and things would go wrong, and he would be a King, and Luke would rule his own country, and _it was beyond him._ He was way in over his head. Malcolm could not battle the rising anxiety threatening to explode from within him. This was how it was always meant to be, and King Poseidon had ruled for too long, and this was the change that was inevitable. And after himself, Nico would be the next to fall in with them.

On the other side of the great aisle of the impossibly large throne room, Malcolm glanced at Nico's small figure, sitting obediently on King Hades's left. And then he looked back at the crown on Luke's head, too heavy for one person, no matter how old. He pursed his lips. That crown might've been white like an angel, and blue like the prettiest of seas, but it was coated in blood, and it couldn't be too long before they all turned against each other. It was only a matter of time.

As Luke held his head high for the cameras and his people, Malcolm scrutinized him, his poise, his straight back, his warm smile with pointy teeth to his people, the crinkles around his eyes, the dark that lurked in his irises.

The crowd cheered for him, _long live the King, long live Luke Castellan of House Calbourne, King of Thasite, God save the King._ Luke passed by and the royals, including himself, rose to their feet, those of lower rank all dipping their head in respect. Malcolm needn't duck but he needn't stare either. However, he couldn't help but follow the King with his eyes, watching as he passed through like liquid, nations making way for the King of Thasite without another word. He didn't even _need_ guards, not really. Luke didn't look like much, not like his Greek God of a brother. He was skinnier, paler, but there was this _gleam_ that made the royals, the ones who _knew_ the psycho tendencies that went behind closed doors in the monarchy, equally uneasy. The people didn't seem to notice, cheering loudly for their beloved ruler.

Music soared in the air and organs blasted and strings vibrated and choral sounds filled the empty space above their heads. And as he watched in a calculating silence, Malcolm remembered what former King Poseidon had once told him as he looked at the newly crowned royal.

_The sea does not like to be restrained._

* * *

**Drew**

Look, Drew never _wanted_ to marry Percy or anything. He was naive, in her opinion, and though that would make it easy for her to manipulate him, that wasn't the real reason she was angry. With Percy, her mother had gone through heaven and hell to negotiate for _her_ to become the Queen of a land. And now even _that_ wasn't guaranteed. She had spent her entire life building up the moment she married some Crown Prince, adopted the title of Crown Princess, and later, Queen.

Nothing was guaranteed. She certainly didn't _want_ to marry Luke, but besides her own feelings, she didn't even know if she'd get to. Luke was doing everything unorthodox. He hadn't even _talked_ about getting married publically! He would have to get married, and soon, but something made Drew think that she wasn't the one he wanted. Mainly because of Annabeth, that wretched girl, swooping in and stealing _her_ crown without even knowing it.

Drew was a master at picking apart people's minds, it was just in her blood, but with Luke, it was a little harder. He was complicated, cunning, quiet, and a damn good liar. Just like his mother. Drew had her suspicions about his attitude towards Annabeth. The newfound King didn't like to lose. It wasn't a matter of _love_ , Drew sneered. It was more than that, stronger than that. The obsession of a Boy King. And he wanted what he couldn't have, like all stupid boys did. Hardly fit to be a King. And he would have her, no doubt, as a Queen or as a servant. Annabeth would be his; it was only a matter of time. But where did that leave her? Played, that's where. And Drew was no fool.

She stormed down the hallway, a force not to be reckoned with, her dress trailing behind her, gliding smoothly across the stone. Silently, she made her way to the dining room. Dinner was ready, and she was ready to feast on some unsuspecting victims, drag information out without their knowledge, and get the throne she'd always deserved.

"Lady Tanaka, I was going to call for someone to check on you. Your absence was worrisome," said Malcolm at one head of the table. She narrowed her eyes at the Crown Prince, a muscle in her cheek twitching. He was not so good at hiding his feelings, that one. She could read him like an open book. He didn't like her too much, she knew as much. In all fairness, she wasn't his biggest fan either. Still, she concealed her feelings, playing dumb and nice.

Her painted lips curved up in a sickeningly sweet smile. "I apologize for my tardiness, sir. It was not my intention to plague any of you," she dipped her head elegantly. A nearby servant pulled out her seat for her, and without paying him a second glance, she swept her emerald green skirt out of the way and cleanly slid onto the satin cushion.

"You look lovely, Princess," Luke said out of the blue, catching her off guard. She schooled her expression, feigning flattery, a ditzy young woman. Luke didn't do anything just for the sake of it, she knew. He had called her Princess, not _Crown_ Princess, implying that she would not be his Queen. Internally, she seethed.

"Thank you, sir. You are all too kind, really," she accepted graciously. Picking up her salad fork, she stabbed some greens with the tips, imagining that it was Luke instead.

"I heard about your sister, Lady McLean, ma'am. I'm sorry to hear that she ran," Malcolm piped up, peering at her over his spoon. "She must have been terrified from all the Amazons' activity."

Piper. That bitch. Drew blinked, gritting her teeth quietly. And Malcolm, everyone in this room knew that she'd joined the Amazons with that stupid guard, the one who had constantly hovered over the blonde bitch. The three of them were turning over their souls to those filthy peasants. And Perseus, who even knew what he was doing? He was in love with Annabeth, the fool. Drew could see it clear as day. The blonde only had eyes for power; that was the only thing Drew had in common with her. He was setting himself up for heartbreak and throwing away his family's name had given him by going along with her and her foolish friends, thinking they could change the world for what? For equality? Nothing in this world was equal. Kill one, another suffers. They were children, really, biting the hand that fed them. And they, too, would burn in the end.

"Naturally," agreed Drew instead. Malcolm seemed doubtful, but he didn't say much else. "Your hand, Prince, whatever happened?" her face crumpled like the perfect doll. Nico was suffering, and it made him weak that he wore it on his sleeve next to his heart. And to think, Hades wanted to make him King. Drew smothered a smile. They would _all_ burn.

"Accident." Nico didn't meet her eyes, picking at his food instead. He chewed slowly, mournfully.

"Once again, sir, please accept my deepest condolences for your loss, Prince," she offered.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you to say," he barely whispered when he spoke.

"The funeral will take place tomorrow, will it not?" she pressed.

"Yes."

"I will be sure to bring flowers, then. What were her favorite?" Drew inquired.

Nico hesitated, and this time, Malcolm cut in before he could say anything. "Carnations," the older Ashington brother mumbled, his eyes screwed shut.

"She always had excellent taste," Drew nodded. Nico flinched. It was silent for a while, and they all ate in peace, the only noise being the voices in their heads, eternally haunting them.

"Princess," a voice cut through the silence like a knife. She looked up, her mouth twisting into a frown when she recognized the royal guard— one of her father's personal bodyguards.

"May I help you?" she queried, her tone light. She was acutely aware of three pairs of eyes on her.

"King Tristan and Queen Aphrodite wish to speak with you at once. And your sister."

"My sister?" Drew could not hide her surprise. This, she hadn't been informed about. "Piper?"

"No, my Lady. Lady Beauregard."

"Oh." She scowled. Her _elder_ sister, the married one, the one who now ruled the land their father had once ruled with their mother. Silena Beauregard of House Raya, Queen of Sumisu and Charles Beckendorf of House Haersley, King of Sumisu, former Duke of Baca. She had been the oldest, and so she had gotten the land of their childhood. Drew had spent her entire life trying to catch up to her, but try as she might, Silena had stolen the spot of her parents' and the country's favorite.

"I was under the impression that Silena, sir. Last I spoke to her, she was studying in Paris and London, the fashion capitals of the world."

"She was, madame. But she has returned for Lady di Angelo's funeral, and King Charles, too, has made a trip back from Asia where he was negotiating to pay his respects."

"Oh. My mistake, then," Drew murmured, her scowl deepening. "By any means, sir, do you have the slightest clue to which my father wishes to discuss with me?"

"No, ma'am. He simply instructed me to summon you, claiming it was urgent, and to collect you with haste." He tapped his foot against the stone impatiently.

"Please excuse me and accept my candid apology for bailing on this lovely dinner," she conceded, meeting Malcolm's and Nico's gazes. And then finally, Luke's. He didn't blink, carefully trained on her like a hawk. She quickly looked away.

"It's quite alright, miss. I hope everything turns out to be okay," Malcolm bid her goodbye like a gentleman. The royal guard pulled out her chair and took her hand as she rose gracefully to her feet. And with that, he ushered her out of the room and to her eager family.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Why is it-" Annabeth let out a muffled shriek in surprise as Percy slipped his hand over her mouth, effectively cutting off her train of thought. She pried his hand off, feigning disgust. "Your hand smells metallic, like blood." She wrinkled her nose. In all fairness, they were both a bit scraped up, and ever since Percy's big injury from the hydra, the metallic scent had never really left him. He was healing, but slowly.

"Shut up," he hissed so seriously that Annabeth decided to maybe actually listen for once. His sea green eyes scoured their surroundings suspiciously. "Do you hear that?" he whispered after a beat of silence.

Annabeth restrained from rolling her eyes. " _No."_ She shot him a weird look, which he swiftly ignored. Besides Malcolm, she'd never met someone who tolerated her attitude so well. It was unsettling that she couldn't get under his skin, yet he could infiltrate _her_ mind so easily.

"Is that- _pipe_ music?" Percy murmured, furrowing his dark eyebrows in confusion. Choosing to entertain his hallucinations, she stilled for a moment, straining her ears to hear what he heard. Sure enough, there it was: a soft wood song haphazardly screeching throughout the forest. Suddenly, Annabeth was very grateful that it was quiet. To put it mildly, it was _horrendous._ She cringed at the ill timed squeaks and out of tune 'melody.' She glanced at Percy and they shared a look of utter and absolute puzzlement.

 _C'mon_ , she mouthed, and when his expression morphed into that of panic (he knew Annabeth's tendency of rashly running straight into danger), she grinned wide. Unsheathing her dagger in one smooth stroke, she darted towards the noise. As she got closer to the source, she became increasingly disoriented and dizzy.

"Tell them to shut the fuck up," she whisper-yelled at Percy, plugging her ears with a look of distaste on her face. He rolled his eyes, reading her lips seeing as his ears were plugged as well. He slowly crept into the fire-lit cave, the shadows from the monster inside dancing on the walls. Annabeth could only assume this was the feared man Sally had spoke of. She felt weirdly nervous, like this was oddly eventful. _Of course it was eventful. She could die. And so could he._ Annabeth followed him into the light.

"Drop the reed pipe or I throw," Percy demanded, holding his sword out menacingly.

The wooden instrument cluttered to the ground in surprise. Annabeth wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but certainly not _this._ She stared. Percy stared. _The guy_ stared. Needless to say, it was very awkward. The guy was completely normal looking, unlike the images of monsters her over imaginative mind had conjured up. He was about half an inch shorter than herself with warm brown eyes, curly chocolate hair, and a wispy beard. He was dressed in a long jacket and slacks, and a small top hat laid on top of his head. His eyes were wide in surprise and thinly veiled fear. If Annabeth had to guess, he looked like he was about sixteen, but something about him made her feel like he was much older than he looked. He just had that… aura of living a long time, seeing a lot of things.

"What the hell?"

Percy looked at her in surprise and then Annabeth felt embarrassed, surprisingly _herself_ as well at the involuntary slip.

"Who _are_ you?" Annabeth demanded before her courage died to a dull fire in the pit of her stomach. "And why are you-" she gestured wildly his pan flute on the ground and his sitting position.

The guy blinked at her. "I could ask you the same thing." He had a pleasant voice, albeit kind of nervous and shaky. Naturally. Percy had a sword extended still, the idiot. As if Percy could read Annabeth's mind, he glanced at the sharp blade in his own had, and reluctantly dropped it to his side, though slowly.

"She said they were all afraid of you. That you knew everything there is to know about Greek myths, and _life_ in general. That they fear you down to their very bones!" Annabeth's silver orbs flashed angrily; she felt tricked.

"Well, _some_ of that is true," the guy admitted. "They fear my bad pipe music," he said cheerfully, scooping up the flute, and seemingly more at ease now that Percy wasn't outright threatening him. Annabeth rubbed her temples in irritation as she felt a building headache growing. He was supposed to be bad and now… he couldn't just be _harmless._ There _had_ to be something he could do, some reason they had trekked all the way here.

"I would too," Percy murmured confusedly, and the guy beamed up at him.

"Please sit, both of you," he gestured to the rocks across from the fire from him. Annabeth looked at Percy and he looked back at her. For once, he seemed at a loss for words and instead stared at her dumbly. She had no doubt that she didn't look much better. Warily, the blonde seated herself from across the guy. She waved her hand in front of her face, feeling perspiration beginning to build. It was _really_ freaking hot in here.

The guy glanced at her, and she quickly clasped her hands together to hide her uncomfort from the heat. "I'm sorry it's hot in here. I was just enjoying a sauna earlier, madame."

Annabeth blinked. So hell was just a sauna. Wonderful.

"Can I get you a drink, sir?" he glanced up at Percy.

"Thank you," Percy nodded and took a seat next to Annabeth. He leaned his sword across the rocks.

"And you, miss?" he offered her. The ex-Princess just offered a weak smile in return and took the cool glass from his hand. She peered into the liquid curiously. It was a deep blue with red swirls and there was a slice of a strange fruit on the edge of the glass. The drink smelled like lime and something else that Annabeth couldn't quite decipher, but very pleasant nonetheless. Maybe wisteria flowers? Percy blinked up at the stranger in front of them suspiciously, and Annabeth couldn't say she didn't blame him. She, too, was hesitant to down a stranger's drink, especially one that looked so odd and that she certainly did not recognize. Most royals just drank champagne with expensive extractions infused in for flavor out of crystal goblets, and the common person drank whiskey or water, though more commonly referred to as Adam's ale.

"Oh, don't be hesitant. It's just nectar," the man waved his hand, dismissing their perplexed expressions. Percy glanced at his glass once more before cautiously sipping at it. Annabeth watched him with wide eyes, astounded by his bravery (or foolishness, depending on how one looked at it). She raised an eyebrow at him, posing a silent question. He nodded slowly, affirming that it tasted fine. But the stunned expression on his face only made her more wary.

She sipped a tiny bit. Annabeth was met with the comforting taste of buttery goodness and it was hot like popcorn would be. She inspected the glass more carefully now. It tasted like the popcorn her father had made for them to split once or twice while reading history books together in a comfortable silence back in the library. This was before, of course, he'd decided she wasn't shaping up to be a proper lady of course. The taste was comforting, and jolting all at the same time.

"How-" Annabeth paused, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at the boy across from them. " _Who are you?"_ she demanded. How dare he bring up memories of her past, good memories that haunted her.

"That's just the way nectar is," he assured her. Percy, on her left, seemed equally lost in the flavors of his home as well. "And I'm Grover Underwood, Your Highness." He smiled crookedly, and Annabeth practically felt her blood pressure rise.

"How do you know who I am?" she whispered, horrified. Percy's knuckles were white around the glass' stem.

"I know a lot," said Grover easily. From anyone else it would've been a cocky statement, one that would've made Annabeth angry at their arrogance, but something about his hyper demeanor and twitching fingers made her believe that he wasn't trying to impress anyone, simply spitting facts. For once, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Then you know why we're here," Percy interrupted.

He grinned. "You," he looked at Annabeth, and she felt like he could see _through_ her. She squirmed on the rock, and not just because it was uncomfortable to sit on such a hard surface. "You're here because you _knew_ something was wrong with the monsters. And you couldn't let it go," Grover tilted his head at her, and giggled a little. The blonde girl blinked. "And you," Grover pointed to Percy. "You're here because _she_ wants to be here," he gestured to Annabeth. Somehow, she knew he knew their inner demons just by looking at them. She was grateful that he didn't spill it before each other.

"Yes, sir," she agreed, hoping to hinder him from saying anymore about her to Percy. "So you _do_ know about the monsters." She was pleased and couldn't fight the miniscule grin spreading across her lips. Sally had been right, and more importantly, she would finally get the answers she so badly sought.

Percy set down his empty nectar cup on the ground. Annabeth hadn't even touched hers after the first sip, plagued by the few good memories of her father.

"Yes," Grover cheerfully affirmed. He tapped the side of his glass with his pointer finger. "I've been around for a long time, miss," he told her, confirming Annabeth's hypothesis that he was older than he looked, perhaps even to a divine level. "You should stay away from those monsters," his expression morphed into one more somber. It was sobering.

"But why do they _exist?_ They're mythological, it's completely ridiculous. How can things of fairy tales be real? Does this mean the Greek Gods are real too? That, oh for God's sake, my mother will turn out to be the _real_ Athena? They can't be real; it's impossible!" Annabeth ranted, her mouth turned down.

Grover stared at the bottom of his empty glass like it held all the answers to the universe. He poured himself another glass. He held up his glass to Percy, but the Prince simply shook his head no, politely declining.

"Can't be very impossible if you've fought them," Grover pointed out. Annabeth's eye twitched she swore she saw Percy crack a smile in the corner. Dickhead.

"But sir!" she exclaimed, exasperated. " _Why_ do they exist?" she rephrased, containing her impatience as best as she could.

Grover shrugged. "I don't know," he stammered awkwardly. She'd found everything he did was kind of awkward, forced. Given that he lived alone in the fucking woods, Annabeth excused his inadequate social interaction skills. "All I know is that people haven't seen them in a long time." He anxiously looked around. "And because I had seen them, I came here. A refuge with wonderful hot springs," he added, ecstatic about his home.

"Why would you flee? Why didn't you tell people?" Annabeth pressed.

"Are you out of your mind?" he bleated, his eyes wide. Annabeth parted her lips, caught off guard. She heard a coughed _yes_ from Percy. "They'd kill me!" He looked at her in horror, as if she was already a dead ghost. "Please don't tell me you told people."

"Um…" Annabeth bit her bottom lip, glancing at Percy.

"We only told my mother and her husband," Percy assured Grover.

Grover's right eye involuntarily twitched. "You better hope they don't spill secrets," he fretted.

"What'll happen if people find out?" Annabeth asked before she could stop herself. She wasn't so sure if she wanted to know the answer anymore. Like she'd told Percy: just because something was true didn't mean it had to be said. Sometimes it was _worse_ to hear it out loud, to make it feel so real.

He hesitated, and even Percy leaned in then. "You know about Juniper?" Both royals nodded. "She was killed for being independent, sure-" his voice cracked in a way that made Annabeth suspect he'd known Juniper a lot more than he was letting on so far. "But she had a friend, though not as many know her name. She died young too." Annabeth felt like she had something stuck in her throat. "Daphne, I remember her well. It was said that she could see the future, and now… now we'll never know." Grover shrugged, and Annabeth thought he might've been tearing up. "She saw the monsters," he gasped. "She saw them like I do, like both of you, and in fear, that poor girl, she told people. Nobody believed her. And they locked her up for it. I miss Juniper," he blubbered, full on sobbing now.

Percy reached forward, engulfing him in a hug. It was such a Percy thing to do that Annabeth couldn't help but admire him as he comforted the other young man.

"They locked her up," Annabeth began thoughtfully. "You're not talking about-" she cut herself off with the horrifying realization.

"The White Hospital," Grover choked.

Annabeth went pale and when she looked at Percy, he was the exact same. The White Hospital was an old, now boarded up, abandoned building, that had once been a mental institute _hundreds_ of years ago. A time before her, and her parents, and her grandparents, and more. They locked up so many and there were no documents to figure out _who_ they locked up and _why_ and what all the 'patients' had in common. And now she knew. They saw the monsters, and they'd been tortured for it. The 'hospital' might've been locked up now, but that didn't assure her. It was just a place. But no doubt there were still people who believed those who saw monsters were crazy, inhuman, and deserved to be tested on.

"So why can I see them, then?" Annabeth queried after a terrible silence. "Why us of all people? What's so special, or rather, tragic about us that gives up this ability?" Percy had poured Grover some tea in the meantime. Grover miserably sipped on it, his nose red and his eyes watery.

"Some say we're the Gods' chosen," he murmured. "I think it's the opposite. I think we're cursed."

Annabeth's forehead wrinkled in worry. "But the Gods aren't real," she faltered. If monsters were real then who was to say the Greek Gods weren't?

"No," Grover revealed. "But there is most definitely some divine intervention involved here. There's now way all this has happened without someone picking and choosing who gets the _Sight_."

"Who do you suspect?" she breathed, leaning forward to catch his every word.

"It could be the Fates. Maybe it's Gaia. Nobody really knows, not even me." He shrugged helplessly and Annabeth couldn't fight the disappointment welling inside her. "There's this one theory that Titans used to exist and those who have the Sight now somehow got a drop of their blood in them somewhere. People say it's from the royal bloodline, but I'm not a royal, and I have the Sight as well. Nothing's really known for sure."

"So what do you suggest?" Annabeth ventured.

Grover looked at her seriously for once, and this time, there was no fear in his eyes. "If you have to fight the monsters, you can win. Study the myths. You're a smart girl, born and bred from the cream of the crop. Go join the Amazons or whatever else you want to do. Ignore the divine intervention. Nobody knows how this came to be; it's just a phenomenon I've learned to accept it, and if you're as smart as I hope you are, you'll learn to accept it, and quickly, too."

"That's it?" Percy piped up for the first time in a while. He frowned.

"And one more thing. I don't care what other people say, I don't care how many fangs those monsters have, or how much venom they carry. The truth is the evil in men and women is baked-in and eternal. Forget that the capacity for evil lurks in all of us and life will find a way to remind you. This reminder can be found daily in front of very noses, but only for those with eyes to see it."

Annabeth swallowed hard and she stood up, trying to stop him before he could say anymore. Truthfully, he was scaring her a little. She knew humans weren't always honest and good, and that nobody was inherently good, and that some people were downright _cruel_ and _twisted_ , but to hear it out loud took something from her. Percy, however, would not get up. She reached down to pull him up. She didn't need to- no- she didn't _want_ to hear this.

"Annabeth," Grover warned, and his chilling voice sent shivers down her spine. "Don't forget the real monsters are the ones inside our head."


	13. The Smallest Coffins Are The Heaviest

**Drew**

The first thing Drew saw was Silena chatting brightly with Aphrodite, and the first thing she felt was jealousy, a dull ache that she had grown only all too accustomed with.

"Little sister!" Silena smiled wide, spreading her arms wide for a hug. Drew dismissed her with one cold look and decisively crossing her arms over her chest. Silena didn't seem to take the hint, wrapping her arms tightly around stoic Drew. She released her and beamed down at her blood. Drew scowled; she liked Piper better. Don't get her wrong, Piper was stupid and an embarrassment to this entire fucking family, but at least with her choppy hair and fatal attempt to even _try_ to look good, Drew always looked like the better half. With Silena, there was no way to win. Aphrodite doted on the eldest, Tristan went along with whatever his wife liked, and that left Drew rotting in a ditch. Wonderful.

Drew scrutinized her older sister. "Isn't that gown from last year's collection?" She tilted her head to one side.

Silena glanced down at her clothes as if she hadn't noticed what she was wearing. In all honesty, she probably hadn't. She was this type of natural beautiful that didn't need any help. She was the type of young woman to look drop-dead gorgeous wearing a trash bag, for God's sake, and Drew hated her for it. Where Drew spent her mornings fluffing her hair for hours and having her handmaidens change her look every day, Silena slipped on whatever looked decent, combed through her naturally silky hair, and looked like a motherfucking Goddess. Of course, Drew would never admit this out loud. That would be blasphemy.

"Maybe?" Silena shrugged. "Why, does it look bad?" She offered a half-smile. Drew resisted the urge to say _yes_ even though it didn't, and instead opted for a stony silence.

"Well, now that everyone's here…" Aphrodite trailed off, looking towards Tristan. Silena's face fell. Drew could only assume she'd heard the news of their traitorous younger sister. That's what she got for being out of town all the time, for being selfish like that and leaving Drew to fend for herself. She didn't even get to _see_ Piper before she'd fled. Good on that. Drew cracked a smug smile.

"We want to discuss our… situation," their father began and Drew's ears perked up. "Drew, as you know, Crown Prince Perseus, your former betrothed, is on the run, most likely to join the Amazons, therefore leaving you without a crown."

Drew's lips parted in surprise. "Technically, I _do_ have a crown. I'm a Princess," she expressed, offended. Her father waved away her comment.

"It doesn't matter. Silena rules our land of Sumisu."

Drew's blood was practically boiling. Would he just get to the point already?

"Our middle daughter will _not_ not be a Queen," Tristan stated, and his eyes gleamed in a way that reminded her all too much of her mother.

Drew felt stiff, standing there with a blatant gap between her and the rest of her so-called family. "So what do you suggest?" she acquiesced.

"House Langen of Kreoca," Aphrodite interrupted. Drew blinked. Then—

"Are you _insane?!_ " she sputtered.

Aphrodite sharply glared at her, and Drew straightened her back, shutting her mouth and cutting her outburst short. She did not wish to evoke the wrath of her mother. "House Langen is very powerful, dear. They are the main providers of weapons, and have the strongest of forgers in all the countries. Their impressive arsenal, combined with their sneaky potions— love and war always go hand in hand— we're terrifying adversaries when put together. They will make a wonderful alliance."

Drew stared at her. "Yes, but they're also _insane_ , Mother." She was acutely aware of King Tristan dismissing Silena from the room. No doubt her parents were up to no good and they didn't want their favorite child to acknowledge their strong cunning trait. Her scowl only darkened.

Aphrodite continued as if she had not heard her. "We don't like the Calbournes either, nor the Pevanshires or Ashingtons, but you will stand and deal as you did before." Drew's mouth fell agape in a horrified expression. "They have a son the same age as you and Perseus. He's not a Prince, but he'll do. Octavian Geve of House Langen, Duke of Kreoca." Drew could barely wrap her head around this, and she was beginning to feel sick. She wanted power, but… she shut her mouth and let her mother explain.

Queen Aphrodite was cunning and everyone under the tables knew it. She was smart, and because of that, she was smart enough to play dumb when needed. "The Langens are planning to wage war against the Calbournes."

"Why?"

"Why?" Aphrodited crowed. "Don't be ridiculous. Luke cannot be King. Have you gone mad? Nobody trusts his story that Perseus killed his own father. I hate the Calbournes with a deep passion, but Perseus was never like that. He was to become King soon, anyways! The only issue is that Luke has so much power, and there is so much about him to fear. Nobody will go against him. At least, not unless it's behind his back. And, after we unite together and take down Luke and the Calbournes, we'll take down the Ashingtons and Pevanshires."

"Mother!" Drew blanched. She hated the Pevanshires and Ashingtons _more_ than the Calbournes, but for fuck's sake, this was ridiculous. They would be castrated!

"Do not raise your voice," her mother instructed sternly. "Together with the Langens, we can take over all the countries, Drew, don't you see? Us Rayas, we used to be the most powerful. And then our ancestors began to let up and give wiggle room to other countries, we lost our place as the highest in the ranking. And then together, we'll end the Canadians and the Amazons, taking it all."

Drew felt dizzy. "That'll be two wars, Mother. The Canadians have already began attacking all of us and so we had united in the first place, initiated by Athena and her plan. And the Amazons allied themselves with the Canadians, making them an even stronger force to be reckoned with. And then with Octavian and the Langens, it'll be us and the Langens against the Calbournes, and most likely the Ashingtons and Pevanshires who will take his side. We can't possibly win!" Her mind was whirring a million times faster than before.

"Three, actually," Aphrodite told her, far too cheerfully for a woman practically signing her own death warrant, or so Drew thought.

"Excuse me?"

"You cannot attend the royal council meetings, but your father does." She glanced at Tristan for a second, before turning her attention back to her middle daughter. "And besides, this meeting— it was an underground meeting anyways, if you catch my drift. Luke is conspiring against the Pevanshires and Ashingtons. He's an angry King who has enough power to do as he pleases. And like us, like anyone in these castles, he wants more. In the end, this all ensures your crown, and it ensures our family's status."

Drew rubbed her temples in exasperation. But Aphrodite was a snake, and she had trained Drew well. "Please break this down for me." Drew felt something in her chest harden. Piper was stupid, but Drew would do what was best for this family and for their Raya name. This was her destiny.

"Ignore the Canadians and the Amazons temporarily," Aphrodite told her, sliding to the edge of her seat as she warmed to the core of this mastermind plan where they ended up on top. "Together, they are fighting all of us, the Rayas, the Langens, the Calbournes, the Ashingtons, and the Pevanshires. We will all battle them separately, using purely our own forces. Luke will advance on the Pevanshires and the Ashingtons. _We_ have told him that we're allied to him forever. We will do our best to convince him that we are on his side—"

"Mother, with all due respect, if he's anything like Medusa— and he is— he's smarter than all of us combined," Drew interrupted.

"Patience, child. At the end of the day, even if he doesn't buy our act, it won't matter." Drew bit her lip, not reassured in the slightest, but allowed Aphrodite to continue with her explanation. "With the Calbournes and us at war with the Pevanshires and Ashingtons, who have always been good friends and will surely form their own alliance, all four of us will waste military valuables and men. However, we will secretly be in alliance with the Langens. We will withdraw ourselves from the Calbourne/Raya versus Pevanshire/Ashington battle, and allow the Pevanshires/Ashingtons to bury the Calbournes into the ground. Then, when the Ashingtons and Pevanshires are weak from defeating Luke, we will sweep in alongside the Langens and defeat both forces. We will come out on top, and using the materials we took over from _three_ kingdoms, we will defeat the Canadian/Amazon alliance and come out on top."

When Aphrodite was finally finished, Drew let out a deep breath. This was risky, and she wasn't too sure she could bear Octavian and his no-good grin, but she would have her crown, and she would be as powerful as Silena. She would rule the land and as much as Drew wanted to turn away from such a bold plan, the thought was appealing, enticing, irresistible. She would make her parents so proud. Perhaps she would finally claim the title of the favorite daughter. Aphrodite raised her eyebrow in a silent question, her expression impassive towards the Princess. Drew understood what she had to do and she had realized that there was no other choice but to do as her mother instructed. She would have the entire world and more importantly, her parents' adoration.

Tristan, breaking the silence, cleared his throat. "Then it's settled?" he inquired.

Aphrodite peered at Drew, a challenge in her eyes: _is it?_ Drew schooled her expression.

"Yes, Mother."

* * *

**Nico**

Nico didn't feel a thing when they put her in the ground. They had returned here, to home in the country of Jirot for her funeral, but they would return to Epresh soon enough. Everyone had flocked here to bury her amongst the passed Pevanshires of time before.

Drew, as promised, put her dumb carnations on top of the casket. He didn't say anything. Malcolm said a few words and managed not to cry. Good for him. Nico didn't do much crying either, not at all, actually. He figured he had run out of tears to cry. King Hades said a few things also. Nico didn't really care what his father said; he had stopped listening a long time back anyways. He wasn't sure, but he thought Queen Persephone said a few things as well. Some bullshit about uniting with these deaths, using them to bond together, and go against the Amazons stronger than ever.

It hardly mattered. You can't bring back the dead, he knew that much. King Frederick said some shit about coming together as well and growing from these experiences. It felt less personal than King Poseidon's funeral, in some ways, in Nico's opinion. Maybe because Nico didn't really care for the old King.

He remembered the moment when he'd found out Bianca had died of course; how could he not? But it felt detached from this world. He remembered his agony, the long nights alone, reaching for her doorknob down the hall every morning when he woke up, expecting to find her there, and only slowly growing accustomed to the fact that that room would always be empty. The moments when he had found something amusing and turned to share the joke with her, only to be shocked anew that she was not there. The worst moments, when, sitting alone at breakfast, he had realized that he had forgotten the precise brown of her eyes or the tone of her laugh; that, like the sound of music, of happiness, of love, they had faded into the distance where memories were forever silent.

Some people were still talking, others weeping in a manner that made Nico's blood boil— he was sure it was all just an act, fake like them— and a few had left the funeral, climbing into their fancy carriages in their plain black clothes and leaving for Epresh, or for home. For a moment, Nico envied them. They still had a home. But he'd never been the self-pity type, so he turned his back to them and their _deepest condolences_ and their _pity,_ and he walked out of the graveyard and away from her platinum and black marble headstone to the stone slabs layered to form a small staircase in the quaint garden. Bianca had always liked the garden. He passed through the garden— he would not kill the flowers she had enjoyed watering despite their mother's protests that _Bianca, the gardeners will take care of it_ — and instead made his way just outside the garden gates.

He sat on the top step and fished a small black box out of his military coat, adorned with dumb badges. Bianca's death had put quite a bit in perspective for him. People spent their whole lives worrying about what was in their wallets and the medals around their necks. For what? That money wouldn't show up in their coffins.

Nico peered at the dark box in his hand. It had gold trim around the edges and on the front it read _Sobranie Black Russian._ He had swiped the box off King Frederick's desk back in Epresh. He hadn't known that Malcolm and Annabeth's father smoked, but he guessed he simply didn't indulge the habit frequently. Most Kings smoked anyways. He had even seen Hades with a bottle of whisky once; it had been nearly empty. It wasn't rare in these big castles to indulge a habit alone when the night got to you.

He fiddled with the metal lighter for a bit before he finally got the knack of it, and bringing it up to his cigar, he let it burn, watching with mild fascination. He twirled it between his long fingers for a moment before touching it to his lips. It took him a couple tries before he got into the groove, and without coughing it all up in under thirty seconds like an asthmatic dragon. He took a long drag of it like he'd seen men do before. Short hits would just get him hyper. That's partially why nicotine was so addicting, he knew. It could do both, a double-edged sword, calm you and give you a small high. Nico willingly put the killer in his mouth, letting it do its job. If all went went, in a few years, he would be one with the smoke.

* * *

**Piper**

"I don't understand." Piper frowned. She scoured their surroundings, perplexed. "They're supposed to be around here somewhere. I did my research. And well, or so I thought." Her eyebrows knit together.

Jason peered up at the tall trees around them. "Perhaps we should've sent a telegram ahead of time."

Piper blinked. Sometimes Jason was too polite for his own good, she thought. "They're Amazons," she pointed out.

"So?" Jason failed to see the problem with that. She cracked a smile. And then she saw it, the arrow soaring through the air like a delivery of bad news. She distantly heard Jason calling out for her to duck— he must've noticed it before she did to react so quickly— but she didn't feel like she was in her own body. It felt like she was standing somewhere else, watching her death fly towards her face at an alarming rate.

The arrow sunk into her shoulder, but she couldn't feel the pain, probably from all the shock spiking through her. The stallion under her thrashed wildly and Piper could only assume this enemy, whoever it was, had shot her horse too. She felt arms reaching out for her, a strong grip lifting her up, fingers wrapped around her forearms. She blinked blankly at the arrow in her shoulder. She knew she shouldn't pull it out, but it was so tempting. The arms around her went slack and she could only assume that Jason was out like a light, having been shot as well. Quietly, she admired the golden feathers on the arrow before promptly passing out.

…

When she came to, there were blue eyes over hers. Relieved, she went to sit up. Surprisingly she didn't wince at all; her shoulder had seemingly miraculously healed. She blinked at the girl in front of her. That certainly wasn't Jason. But those blue eyes couldn't lie and… she recalled the moment that those Amazons had been captured in the cells with the royals torturing. Percy had pointed out something, someone was…

"You're Jason's sister," Piper realized.

Thalia rolled her eyes. "We've got a real genius here." She was lazily sprawled out on a couch in battle armor, and obnoxiously chewing noisily.

"Shut up, Thalia." Piper's head snapped to the left where another girl sat, perched precariously on the window ledge. Sun streamed through the glass, reflecting off her gold armor, making her appear like an angel, a daydream. Piper, however, had a feeling that she was probably much more of a killer than she looked like. She had reddish-brown hair and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. "I'm Gwen" she introduced herself. "And now that you're awake, I'll get the General." She left, leaving her alone with Thalia.

"Um…" Piper trailed off, squirming a little. Thalia was unsettling to say the least. And then it hit her. "Where's Jason?" She felt panic building inside her.

Thalia grinned a little. "He's fine." She waved her hand dismissively.

Piper squinted at her. "That's not very reassuring, you know."

Thalia just shrugged. "The only reason you're alive, despite being a royal, is because Annabeth had vouched for you. Before, ya know, she went missing."

Now Piper was on alert. "She went missing? Where's Percy?"

Thalia wrinkled her nose. "Her little boy toy? Who cares?" She snorted.

Piper bit her bottom lip. "And Annabeth?" Wherever the blonde was, Percy was sure to be by her side. Unless they were dead. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. She would rather not think about that.

Thalia shrugged again. "We don't really know. After she outed herself as an Amazon and fled with his Majesty—" Thalia smirked, mocking Percy, "—we thought she'd come straight here, dragging along that stupid boy as well. But she never showed up. We can only assume she's on the run, taking some sort of detour." The Amazon's eyes darkened, swirling dangerously, and Piper felt a shiver run down her spine. Electricity tingled in the air. "Or she's dead."

The door opened at that moment, crashing the somber ambiance.

"Sleeping Beauty's awake," Thalia crowed, grinning up at the General. Reyna rolled her eyes and didn't even bother to reprimand her lieutenant. Piper suspected Reyna secretly didn't mind it so much, given away by the tiny smile at the corner of her mouth. "I still can't believe you kept me here to babysit some girl."

"You brought it upon yourself." Reyna half-shrugged. "You wouldn't stop arguing with the Canadian men."

"But they're stupid!" Thalia retaliated.

Reyna rolled her eyes again, sighing softly. Piper imagined she must've done that a lot, hanging near Thalia all the time. "It doesn't matter. They're allies, and our Lady _clearly_ instructed us to play nice." Thalia glared at her.

"Your Lady?" Piper breathed. "The Amazon Queen?"

Reyna tilted her head at the brunette, her expression unreadable. "Yes. This is one of our main bases." She spread her arm around the room. The General scrutinized her carefully. "And don't worry, you'll meet her." Thalia snorted again on the other side of the room.

Piper felt her heart palpitating wildly in her chest. "Really?" Her kaleidoscope eyes had gone wide. "Of course." Reyna's face was stoic. "In fact, she specifically asked to see you."

* * *

**Will**

Will wasn't sure _how_ he knew, call it intuition, but when the first whiff of smoke hit his nose, he knew somehow exactly who it was behind that cigar.

"Smoking kills." He sat down next to him on the ground.

Nico didn't respond, exhaling slowly. The smoke curled around his lips and then he finally looked over at the healer. The small boy smiled placidly, but it was like he already fading away, flickering in the light. He was a dead boy walking. A ghost, transparent and a goner. It made Will feel real funny inside.

"You inhale like you're trying to forget something," Will murmured, turning his face away from the cigar. The smell had always bothered him, resurfacing bad memories from a childhood he didn't miss.

"You don't have to sit here, you know," he finally said, and Will thought his voice sounded a little too small. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before the Prince's voice shifted to the raspy sickness of a smoker. It wasn't something he wanted to think too much about.

"Where else would I be? I go where I see a deterioration of health."

"I can see it on your face that you don't like the smell. You can go," Nico mumbled, the cigar against his lips.

"Did you know that for every cigarette you smoke, you lose 13.8 minutes of your life?" Will articulated. He wasn't here to reprimand the younger boy, but he couldn't help but share the ache that the Prince felt. Nico was quiet for a moment.

"Who wants to live forever, anyways?" he croaked, finally.

"People look up to you," Will pointed out.

"Good. I can be used as a bad example," Nico agreed.

"Sir." Will was exasperated.

"Don't fucking call me that."

The medic froze, surprised. He hesitated. "Then what should I call you?"

He shrugged, as if he hadn't planned this far ahead. Will supposed he hadn't. "I'm Nico. Just Nico."

"Okay," he conceded. "I'm Will." He cringed immediately. Nico was the fucking Prince, he probably already knew. And surely enough…

"I know."

"Okay," said Will again. Nico was very quiet, he'd noticed. He didn't say much, but when he did, Will found himself hanging onto his every word. And he _wished_ he would talk more because when Nico was talking, he wasn't smoking, and that loosened the iron knot in Will's stomach. And he wished he would talk more because he was something special, and it killed Will inside, killed him like the smoke killed Nico. And sitting here under clouds of nicotine, it felt surreal.

"I never understood this obsession." Nico broke the silence, and Will was content to sit silently and listen. "It's just a classy way to kill yourself." He tapped the cigar and ash fell to the ground. He swiftly ignored it. "But as you get older, you really start to understand more and more why people drink their days and nights away, smoke their lungs black, or throw themselves off buildings."

Will didn't even have it in him to be horrified. "I suppose. I think some people smoke just to enjoy it though," he mentioned.

"Well, you see, that's the difference then."

And it all made sense. "They smoke because they like it; you smoke to die." Will really wanted to smack him. "That's—" he trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Don't look at me like that."

Will hadn't even realized he had been staring. His stomach was churning. Quickly, he looked away. "Like what?"

"Like I'm already dead."

Will made a low noise of protest. "I'm not—"

"Like you can fix me. I don't need fixing." Nico glared at him and Will found himself shrinking under his cold gaze. "That's the only reason you hang around me anyways. You have this _irrational_ need to fix things and people and I'm not it. I don't fucking need this." He stood up, putting out the cigar under his foot. He looked a lot like his father when he got angry, Will had noticed. And he _really_ didn't want Nico to grow up to become his parents. That was an empty lifestyle he imagined he'd never understand as a castle healer.

"But—" Will could feel him slipping away, right out his fingertips. He hastily rose to his feet, but Nico just held up his hand impatiently.

"Just promise me one thing?" Nico requested. Will raised an eyebrow in question, silently urging him to continue. "When I die, bury me far away from this place."

Will's heart constricted. He said 'when' not 'if,' but 'when'. "You don't want to be buried next to your sister?"

Nico scoffed. "In a graveyard of pretentious royals? No thanks. I spend too much of the time I'm _alive_ with them anyway. Who in their right mind wants that once they're gone?"

Will felt like throwing up. He couldn't believe they were discussing a _16-year-old's_ death. He, himself, was 16, and he couldn't imagine sharing the same headspace as Nico. His eyebrows involuntarily knit together in concern.

"And Will?"

"Nico?" His name sounded strange in his mouth, but Will found he sort of liked it.

"Don't try to fix me. I mean it." Nico's eyes darkened, and taking the bitter scent of smoke with him, he walked away.

* * *

**Piper**

Piper wasn't really sure what to expect, but she had to admit, the young woman on the throne matched the image of a fierce Queen. She had mid-length dark hair, black as the night sky, and under the right light, Piper felt as though she could see the constellations in her hair, silvery strands of the clear skies at nighttime. Her eyes reminded her a lot of Princess Annabeth's, a silvery version of the blonde's. It was cool, and steadily pinned Piper to her spot. She appeared relatively young, perhaps only a few years older than Reyna or Thalia, but Piper suspected she was much older than she seemed. She just had that air of elegance, that aura of time. The throne was tall and simple, gold with the crescent of the moon carved into the headpiece. The Queen wore nothing that particularly stood out, except… Piper's gaze fell to the Queen's waist.

She'd never been particularly good at studies, usually drifting off in her lessons, but she'd paid attention when learning about the Amazons. They'd always intrigued her, even if she was supposed to hate them. Sure enough around the young woman's waist was the belt of Hippolyta. It was said the former Queen, Hippolyta, had received the gift from her father, the Greek god Ares, and it greatly increased physical strength and prowess of the wearer in battle. It served to symbolize her authority as Queen. Piper sucked in a sharp breath.

"I am Artemis." On her head was a silver crescent on the front of a thin, wiry band. Piper felt as though she should bow, but neither Reyna nor Thalia had moved an inch, so she didn't move either.

"It's an honor," she managed to say elegantly, at least.

"Is it?" Artemis tilted her head, peering at Piper quietly. Her voice was silky and smooth like moonlight.

"You wanted to see me?" Piper spoke up, hoping to capture her attention with her easy tone.

"Yes."

"You didn't want to kill me?" the brunette queried.

"At first, yes. But then, no. One of my Generals, Reyna, tells me that the blonde girl has vouched for you. And she's proven to be very useful. I trust her word." Artemis narrowed her eyes at her, and Piper felt her heart speeding up.

"The Princess vouched for me?" She couldn't fathom this. Annabeth had hardly known her. Perhaps… perhaps she'd always known the length to which Piper's interest in the female warriors went. She had always been two steps ahead of everyone else.

"Here, she's not a Princess," Artemis stated coolly. "And neither are you." Piper felt a prickle of fear.

She summoned her courage. "But I'm valuable."

"Don't be deluded," Thalia grinned darkly and Piper kept her mouth shut.

"What makes you think that?" Artemis inquired. She seemed genuinely curious.

"If I wasn't, you would've killed me." It was simple."

"But Annabeth vouched for you," Artemis pointed out, her eyes gleaming dangerously. She leaned forward as if stalking her prey. Piper had a feeling this was some sort of test to gauge her intelligence and quick-wit. Fine. She'd play along.

Piper shook her head, no. "It doesn't matter what Annabeth said. You're the Queen. If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead."

Artemis sat back in her throne at that, seemingly pleased. "Fair enough. Do you know why I've called you here?" Piper had the good sense to keep quiet. "You were a Princess, you were in a good place. Your house, Raya, would have kept you in a line of royalty. Even with this new Boy King on the throne for Calbourne, your parents would have established your role. Your sister, Drew, she _will_ marry to be a Queen. To whom yet is uncertain, but mark my words, that is their desired outcome. Whether it will be true or not, well, that's still up in the air." The Queen paused, inspecting the brunette once more. "And, most importantly, House Raya follows that Boy King around like they're hungry for his throne. So my question, I suppose, is why would you throw away your entire life for _this_ place?"

Piper's throat felt dry. Artemis, she'd figured out, was a woman of few words, and for her to lay all her cards out flat like this, it was terrifying. "Couldn't you ask the same of Annabeth?" She attempted to deflect first.

Artemis's expression didn't shift, not even miniscule movement. "I know all about Annabeth, I assure you. Her reason for joining was genuine." The implied question hung in the air like a sword dangling over Piper's head. _Is yours?_ She swallowed. She would be talking to keep her life, she knew deep down.

"The royals are just going to fight among themselves for arbitrary lines, land that doesn't belong to them," Piper met Artemis's gaze with a fierce look of her own. She'd always been a good speaker. In fact, it was one of her best qualities. Persuasive, cool, collected, she had it all. She looked from Thalia to Reyna to the Queen. "The land belongs to the people. It always has. And the Amazons plan to return it to the rightful owners, which I can _definitely_ support. While the royals tear each other apart, the Amazons can prove democracy to be the sole ruler," the Princess explained.

"So this isn't because you want more for women?" Artemis arched a dark eyebrow.

"Is that the reason Annabeth gave you? She's always wanted that." Piper nodded; it simply made sense. "No, that's not my sole purpose. It's just another benefit. I don't want to be married off anymore than Annabeth did, trust me. I've always wanted to start my own business, rise to the top, have aspirations of my outside of pleasing a Duke or Prince."

Thalia smirked at her. "So you're not interested in Jason, then?" Reyna groaned next to her. Artemis didn't seem nearly as amused.

Piper straightened her back. She could handle this. "It doesn't hardly matter, the way I see it, if I'm involved with him or not. The point is, it's all my choice." The corner of her mouth curved up, sickeningly sweet. "My choice whether or not to entertain him or to fly solo. My choice because the Amazons _will_ make it that way." She looked up at Artemis. "Will they not?"

"We will," Artemis granted, nodding slowly. "Very well."

Piper's heart leaped in her chest. "I'm accepted?"

Artemis offered the tiniest of smiles. "Not yet. You'll have to prove yourself first. After the Boy King betrayed us, we're not particularly eager to accept royals."

Oh. Piper deflated in disappointment.

"But," Artemis continued, "all is not lost yet. Prove yourself, prove your alliance, and," she hesitated, "and I will _personally_ award you a golden bandana." Piper's mouth fell open in surprise, as did Thalia's. Reyna's eyes widened with shock. Artemis was much too busy to bother herself with doing her Generals' jobs of recruiting and inducting members. Reyna had accepted Annabeth, a General. To have it given to her by the Queen? Piper bit her lip to keep herself from breaking out in a cheek-splitting grin. She wanted it _so_ bad.

"I won't let you down," she promised.

Artemis offered no response and so Reyna and Thalia took her out of the throne room. "Has anyone been presented a place in the Amazons from the Queen herself?" she asked out loud to no one in particular.

"Not as far as I know," Reyna confirmed and this time Piper couldn't stop the smile on her face. "Now hurry up," she urged, walking with purpose across the greenery. They passed many young women, some chatting, others sharpening their weapons, some carrying jugs of water. Some men were sprinkled in too, and other women who weren't wearing gold bandanas around their wrists and necks and foreheads. Piper could only assume they were the Canadians.

"Where are we going?" she questioned.

"To see my brother, of course." Thalia grinned mischievously. "Hopefully the dork is done napping now. And if not…" She looked at the stream of water some girls were gathered around pointedly. Reyna cracked a smile at her lieutenant's hint.

Piper laughed at that. It _would_ be pretty funny to see reserved Jason soaked in freezing water. Thalia might've been a little rough around the edges, but she was fun, and the brunette suspected she had more heart than she let on.

* * *

**Drew**

Drew's mood soured at the image of a happy Silena and Charles. It just wasn't… fair. Silena was a thief. She stole the hearts of the people of Sumisu, she robbed the hearts of their parents, she was most definitely Piper's preferred sibling as well, and she got the happily ever after. She was nice and innocent when Aphrodite dropped her mind upon Drew, robbing Drew of any chance to live a blissfully ignorant life. Was it too much for them to be proud of her? Apparently, yes it was.

"It's been a while, little sister," Silena cooed.

Drew despised being called 'little sister.' She was hardly little, a bit taller than Silena actually.

Silena picked up one of her blush gowns, neatly hanging it in the grand walk-in closet. Both Charles and her were supposed to leave that task to the servants, but they didn't seem to mind too much, almost _more_ at-ease by helping the staff. King Charles scrunched his eyebrows together at the folded bed sheets in his arms. The both of them were sharing a guest room for a couple days as the funeral processions finished. Then, they would return to their kingdom, blissfully extracted from all the drama. Well, except for the fact that King Charles was occupies countering the Amazonian/Canadian advances.

"A little help?" His voice was muffled under all the sheets and Silena laughed, a bell-like sound, making her way over to assist her husband.

Drew sat on the loveseat across the bed, scowling at her cup of rose tea.

Silena stretched across the bed, grinning as the bedsheet resisted their efforts, attempting to snap back into a tight ball. They worked efficiently and silently, a natural team. Drew sunk lower in her chair. When it was clear that Drew wasn't going to start a conversation any time soon, Silena spoke up instead.

"So how has Epresh been treating you?" the Queen kindly inquired.

Drew rolled her eyes. "We're in Jirot, Silena."

Silena shot her a wry smile; she'd always been particularly invincible to Drew's snippy tone and less-than-pleasant attitude. "I know." Her blue eyes sparkled. Drew had always been jealous of them. Whereas hers were a plain brown, her older sister's resembled an ocean. "But you'll go back to Epresh soon," she assured her sister. "Besides, you've spent most of your time in Epresh in the Ashington castle, only going back to Thasite to visit Perseus Jackson Calbourne's family," she reasoned.

"The Ashingtons are just as unpleasant as ever," Drew remarked, smirking.

"Really?" Charles piped up. "I've heard they're quite nice, actually. Smart, too."

"Well…" Drew reconsidered her words. "I suppose their son, Crown Prince Malcolm, he's not so bad. But his sister is one piece of work for sure."

"Oh, I've heard of her." Silena frowned a little. "Annabeth, right?"

"I don't know." Drew shrugged, though she _did_ indeed know that was her name.

"Oh, she's a feisty one. Or so I've been told." The blue-eyed girl smiled to herself. "She can't have been _terrible_ though. What's she done to you?"

"Nothing to _me_ in particular," Drew amended. "But she's very opinionated. And quite rude, might I add. She doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut and she's very immature, getting angry quickly."

Silena shot her a look and Charles pretended not to notice all the tea being spilled. "You forget yourself in your frustration, little sister."

Drew frowned.

"You mustn't forget that you are one year senior to her," Silena reminded.

"I highly doubt I was _nearly_ that childish at her age," Lady Tanaka protested.

Silena hid a smile. "Of course."

Drew stood, rolling her eyes, and dusted off her gown even though she very well knew there was nothing on it. "I'll be on my way, then. This was fun." No it wasn't. Queen Silena served only one purpose to her, and that was to remind her of everything she could not be.

"Yes. I'll talk to you later?" Silena's tone lifted at the very end, as if she was maybe hopeful.

Drew pasted a smile on her face. "Yes."

…

"Have we met?"

Drew turned to see a young woman, maybe a year or two younger than her. Or perhaps it was just the fact that she was an inch or two shorter than herself that made her seem younger. She had ginger, short hair neatly coiffured to reveal a skinny, charming face, and— like two diamonds— she had clear hazel eyes, crystal-like and smooth. They were almost like a mirror, but Drew imagined a mirror to be much colder inside than the petite young woman's eyes were. The woman was adorned in a long red gown, cascading down her back and flat figure, complimenting her pale skin nicely. It was a shade offset from the ginger hair and it fit nicely. The hem was made up of sharp cuts, clean like a dagger, or fire, or a war. Hanging from her ears were two long golden droplets, contrasting to her hair nicely. They resembled ichor, the blood of the Gods. Around her wrist was a delicate golden leaf bracelet.

"I don't believe so," said Drew with caution. She tilted her head to one side. The Princess couldn't help but wonder if that was her natural hair color; it was simply gorgeous.

The young lady furrowed her chestnut eyebrows in confusion, but then her expression relaxed, and her face radiated warmth as she broke out in a soft smile. "Cecily Koehn of House Langen, Duchess of Kreoca."

Drew let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding in. A fellow royal, thank God. And then she realized:

"Langen?" she asked, breathless. All of a sudden, Drew felt real uncomfortable.

"I'm Octavian's cousin," she gently replied.

Drew blinked. She had never _really_ met the Langens, but the land of Kreoca certainly had the most nutjobs and their family wasn't exactly known for being peaceful creatures. House Langen possessed lots of weaponry. They were known for having the largest collection of arsenal, complete with the oldest of swords, katanas, knives, bows, and arrows. The were _bloodthirsty_ and to hear this girl, Cecily, speak so softly and have large, kind eyes, it was such a hit.

Lady Tanaka grimaced. Octavian was not a reminder she wanted now. "Of course. You must be here to meet my parents."

Cecily offered a half-smile. "Yes. Octavian's mother sent me as a representative."

Drew felt hopeful, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it. "Will you be sticking around for some time?"

"Perhaps." Cecily frowned as if she hadn't thought that far ahead. "Octavian will definitely come later; he's simply caught up in being his father's right hand man right now."

"Of course." Drew's mood soured at the thought of the fair-haired boy. "Let me show you to my parents," she relented.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"You've been awfully quiet," Percy said out of the blue, startling her. She lowered her dagger when realization struck. "And a bit jumpy, too," he muttered under his breath.

Annabeth shrugged. "What do you want me to say? We're either… crazy, or…"

Percy shook his head. "I don't think we're crazy. Well… maybe _you're_ a bit loopy, but I'm perfectly sound, I assure you."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Percy. It's not normal to see things that aren't there. And that guy, Grover, he couldn't even give us a proper explanation. Maybe _he's_ off his rocker too." She bit her lip nervously. "I mean— Percy you just killed your father not even a week ago."

Percy's expression darkened at the unwanted reminder.

"And I've thrown away everything I've ever known. We could _both_ have lost our minds and not even know it. And Grover lives in the middle of the fucking woods, alone, after his girlfriend died!" Annabeth was ninety-nine percent sure she was becoming hysterical, throwing out accusations and not even being able to feel horrified by the insensitivity in which she'd mentioned the former King Poseidon. "He probably talks to leaves." Her hands were trembling. She raked her right hand through her messy curls, only causing them to stick up more. "And rocks, and frogs," she panicked. Percy's face was fading into her surroundings.

"That's ridiculous. Annabeth, you've got to stay with me." She was dimly aware of his warm hands on her shoulders, shaking her a little. "You're just a little shaken, you'll be okay," he promised.

Her shoulders slumped under his grip. "What other logical explanation could there be for this? Divine intervention is _bullshit._ We're all alone and we're going to die, and it's going to be _all_ my fault, and even if there _were_ Gods or guardian angels, or fucking bat-winged old ladies called the Fates, they don't give a _fuck_ about us because otherwise we wouldn't be out here, in the middle of the godforsaken woods, far from home, far from Malcolm and your psychopathic brother, and this is the end, I swear, my new brother is going to have to be a slimy snail off the forest floor." She was vaguely aware of the stray tears on her eyelashes.

"A snail? Annabeth, deep breaths, c'mon," he gently persuaded. She found that she'd always really liked his voice, you know, when there wasn't a bunch of stupid shit coming out of it. "Would it help if I offered my thoughts on the whole… _White Hospital_ scare?"

She nodded in a daze, gripping onto his arms as if he were her lifetime. Perhaps he was, perhaps she would black out right here and now if he wasn't with her. "Nothing makes sense anymore," she whispered very quietly.

Percy licked his lips, concentrating on a bird in a nearby tree instead of looking at her. She was grateful; his sea green eyes were much too intense for right now. "I think," he hesitated, "I think somebody's afraid."

"Is it me?" Annabeth joked, weakly.

Now he looked at her, and she immediately regretted speaking up. "No," he assured her. She felt small under his gaze. "I don't think you're the type to be fear much." She was strangely honored by his praise.

"I think somebody's done something wrong, messed with something they shouldn't have, and now they're trying to cover up their tracks. Or perhaps it's an old mistake that still affects people to this day, so the White Hospital was their way of trying to hide their sins."

Annabeth looked away, but she could still feel his burning eyes on her. "You're suggesting someone created these monsters?" She had not considered that before, but she could be persuaded to believe that. It would make a lot more sense than her loss of her own sanity.

"Yes. Perhaps someone created the monsters or created something else that _changed_ into monsters, or maybe poisoned people somehow to see these things, a calculated move to get rid of people." His eyes darkened.

"Weed people out?" Her breath hitched, her eyes wide.

"Weed out the truth-tellers." Percy nodded, his mouth in a grim line. "Weed out the royals they didn't like, weed out the common folk who dared go against the current and think outside the box, kill those who didn't agree to their sole domination."

"Like a dictator?" she inquired, the gears in her brain firing rapidly.

"Sure," he agreed. "Because stupid shit always come down to the same things: power and money. And history…"

"...always repeats itself," she finished for him. Annabeth frowned. "So who could've done this stuff? And who, besides Grover, Juniper's friend Delphi, and us, have seen these beasts?"

Percy shrugged, casually. "I'm not sure. Any guesses?"

"It's a _White_ Hospital. White is a Calbourne color so I'd be easily convinced it was some ancestor of yours, but you've seen the monsters too, so there's no way your own family would commit treachery against you." Percy stared at her, and she immediately understood what he was thinking. "Medusa married in after. Your family has always been fairly clean before that. Her son and her, they couldn't have done this."

Percy slid his tongue over the flat of his teeth. "So who else?"

"The Rayas have _always_ been rather shady," Annabeth pointed out. "Aphrodite is a she-devil, and her middle daughter's not much different. Who's to say that they're family hasn't been up to no good for the past few centuries? Not to mention, they have the most promising medicine and drugs in the world, considering their link with plants. They could mass-drug people," she theorized.

"You're only entertaining the thought that it's a royal, though," Percy mentioned.

"It has to be," she countered. "You have to have power and money to do destruction like this."

Percy tilted his head at her. "You really hate the monarchy, don't you?"

"Anyone who's not blind should," she firmly stated.

He was silent. "So Malcolm's blind, then?" Percy queried, his gaze hardening at her general statement.

"Fair enough," she conceded. "But I'm just saying, there's no way some smalltown person has started this shitshow."

"Maybe," he decided. "But I think you should keep your eyes peeled, and trust no one either way. We don't really know much. This is just my theory, don't forget. And, by your own words, I'm stupid." He offered a dark smile, one that sent shivers down Annabeth's spine. Remorse bubbled inside of her.

"You're not stupid," she whispered.

"No," he assured her. "I'm okay with being passed off as stupid. It only surprises them all the more when I win." He grinned, but it didn't feel like him.

"I'm—" Her chest felt really tight; she didn't like doing this. "I'm sorry," she breathed. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders, like the elephant had shifted off her chest, and she could exhale again.

Percy's face didn't change.

"I'm sorry," said Annabeth again, and this time it felt easier to get out. "I never should have underestimated you, or called you an idiot. You're actually very smart." It felt like she was shredding her pride to bits, but she knew this had to be done. "It's a quiet kind of intelligent, I think. You don't feel the need to advertise it like my family, or… or me," she breathed out. Her throat constricted tightly. She had never been good at apologies. "And it's scary because I think that maybe in some ways, you might be smarter than _me._ You keep your head screwed on the right way, you're calm under pressure, you have a witty sense of humor, and you're really strong. Mentally, I mean. Everyone's been through a lot in light of this revolution, and you might've taken the most of it, I think."

He scrutinized her for a moment and Annabeth shifted her weight to her right leg. "You're not as bad as they said you were," he amended.

"They?"

He ignored her. "They said you were stuck up and childish and full of yourself."

She felt like she was holding her breath. "And now?"

"You're not so bad. You're nice like this, you know."

"Really?" she teased, feeling a bit better now. _You're nice like this._

He smirked, and this time it felt like him and everything she liked about him. "Really," he confirmed. He was close to her, close enough that if she leaned in, she could probably kiss him. She still remembered what he tasted like from that one day in the abandoned room in her old castle. Like the salty sea, like the scent of the beach, like something exotic and sinful and vulnerable. A heat rose in her cheeks and she prayed he couldn't see it and infer where her stupid teenage mind was going. Percy's long fingers curled around her chin and he drew her face close to his. Annabeth's breathing shallowed.

"You're nice too," she whispered, attempting to stem the inevitable. This was hardly appropriate then, when she had been linked to the now Boy King, and it was hardly appropriate now, on the brink of revolution, with mass murder occurring in these wars, with the Amazons probably waiting on her to return to them with the Prince by her side.

"Just nice?" There was a dangerous lilt in his voice, and for some reason, she found herself really wanting to test the limits.

"Yes," she murmured. "Just nice."

His nose was touching hers and his intoxicating scent was getting unbearable. He leaned in and her heart fluttered wildly. "Let's steal a horse," he suggested.

Annabeth blinked. That was _not_ what she'd been expecting. "What?" She squinted at him.

Percy smothered down a smile. "A horse. The Amazons are too far to get to by foot. Besides, I've got to send a letter to my mother. Perhaps we can disguise ourselves and send the mail, then steal a horse, or maybe a damn carriage, I don't know, then make a break for it."

Annabeth stared at him for a moment. "Sounds like a solid plan." She cleared her throat, stepping away from him and straightening her back. Deep down, she felt vaguely disappointed.

Percy didn't look away from her, and she really wished he would if he wasn't going to kiss her. That was just teasing. He smirked.

"You look so let down." He laughed, and her face felt hot all over again.

"Why would I be let down?" she sniffed, indignant.

His eyes sparkled mischievously. "No reason."

"It's not nice to tease, you know," Annabeth said, feeling brave. Her cheeks were dusted pink.

"I never said I was nice," he pointed out. "You did."

She rolled her eyes. "And I take it back, now."

This time he laughed for real and cupped her face, bringing her close to him once again. "I'm not nice," he vowed, shrugging lightly. His voice was thick like syrup and effortlessly flirty. Annabeth's power of speech remained elusive when in this close of proximity to him. Finally, she found her voice.

"I think you are," she mumbled. "You just don't like to show it."

"Really? I've been told my actions have _always_ outweighed my words." He was playing with her and it was exciting. _He_ was exciting by nature.

"Prove it." She offered a sly smile. There was a fire in her veins and nothing could diminish it now.

Percy leaned over and kissed her. It was everything she imagined a second kiss would be. It was heated and incredibly selfish, so they both fought for dominance just as they'd done in that ballroom so long ago. Their bodies pressed together and it was ridiculously scandalous, but everything Annabeth had been taught before flew out of her head in a matter of minutes with his slim fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. She placed her hand on his shoulder and dragged him impossibly closer with her other arm. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, and his eyes were closed, dazed.

"How _nice_ was that?" he queried in a patronizing tone. "I don't think you'll complain."

"Just nice," she replied with a sarcastic lilt. She tried and unsuccessfully tried to hide her smile.

He smothered one of his own, drawing her in again for another mild-melting kiss. "And how _nice_ is this?" He peppered kisses down her neck and collarbone, leaving her winded. "And this?" he whispered, wrapping his arm around the curve of her waist.

"Lord give me patience or an untraceable handgun," she teased, and he shook his head at her.

"You're laughing at me," he complained, grinning a little. "You're _always_ laughing at me."

"I prefer to say that I'm laughing _with_ you," she corrected, sheepishly.

"You are so not making this easy."

Then she laughed for real, and she put her hands around his neck. "I am never _ever_ going to make things easy for you, Percy. Get used to it." Then she kissed him again simply because she could.


	14. You Won't Believe This False Hope

**Percy**

"So here's what I'm thinking," Annabeth began, her face shielded by her cape's hood. "First, we talk to that guy over there. I don't recognize him and he doesn't look like one of Malcolm's friends, so this should be relatively guilt-free…"

In all honesty, Percy had zoned out about halfway through her game plan, mostly because if a plan was made, something always went wrong and they had to improvise anyways, so why not just wing it to begin with? Besides, a guard was approaching them from the left, his head down as he listened to his earpiece. It was the perfect moment to strike.

"Then we make a run for it," Annabeth concluded. "Got it?"

Percy's hand flew to his sword; he had to act now or the moment would pass.

"Percy?"

He shot forward smacking the guard in the forehead with the hilt of his sword. The young man crumpled to the ground, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"Percy!"

He was dimly aware of Annabeth hovering over him and the fallen guard. Grunting with the weight of the other man, Percy dragged him across the cement behind the trees.

"We need one more," he commented, scouring their surroundings.

Annabeth chewed her bottom lip before him. She was glancing uneasily at the guard in a way that made Percy suspect she thought he might wake up. "This wasn't part of the plan."

"Screw the plan," Percy muttered under his breath.

"I like plans."

He blinked. "Of course you do." He nodded very subtly to a guard on the left. "Him."

"This is crazy," Annabeth murmured.

"Thanks," he retorted, kicking the fallen guard's arm further behind the bushes.

"How do we get him?"

" _We?_ " Percy snorted. "More like me. You stand here and stay hidden. Don't let the guard be discovered."

Annabeth frowned. "I can knock him out too, you know."

"Yes, but I can do it faster."

"Who says?" Annabeth argued, childishly. Percy rolled his eyes.

"I say. You overthink things; I've got this." He snuck out of the bushes once more, drawing his sword long before him. The guard in front of him turned around, his expression shocked, but before he could scream out and alert more authorities, the Calbourne Prince punched him in the jaw, sure to leave behind spectacular purple bruises running along the side of his face the next morning. He dragged him back behind the trees where Annabeth was suspiciously eyeing the first victim.

"Now what?" she inquired, pursing her lips up at him. Percy looked away; he couldn't really bear to look at those lips and _not_ want to kiss her. Stupid pretty Princess, filling his mind with disarming thoughts.

Percy shrugged. "Now we take the horses."

"That easy?"

"That easy," he promised her, slipping his sheath off from around his waist. It fell to the ground with a dull clink. Next came off his military jacket.

"What are you doing?" Annabeth squeaked. Percy saw that her cheeks were dusted pink, and he felt his own face get hot at the realization that this must look _really_ weird without context.

"We're wearing their uniforms. I thought that much was obvious," he explained briefly, pausing momentarily with undressing.

"I am _not_ putting on some bulky uniform," Annabeth hissed, fiercely crossing her arms over her chest.

He just rolled his eyes. "Annabeth, you're being unreasonable. Their clothes have much more padding and armor if we run into any more monsters or enemies. Plus we can blend in more easily in town, God forbid we have to go in town, with their uniforms. And, once we reach the Amazon base, we can give _them_ the uniforms to use in future plans, simultaneously proving our alliance. It's perfect."

"But—" Annabeth wrinkled her nose; she was a sucker for his flawless logic "—ugh. They're probably sweaty and gross."

"Don't be such a wuss." He rolled his eyes again; with her, he seemed to find himself doing that a lot.

"I'm not!" she denied.

"Then put it on," Percy challenged in turn, matching her burning gaze.

She huffed, glaring adorably at him. Well, _he_ thought it was adorable. However, he imagined most people's blood would freeze under her death stare. She muttered unkind commentary under her breath, undressing the guards with blatant distaste.

Percy slipped off his white gold belt next and then awkwardly looked up at the Princess. His fingers awkwardly fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. "Oh, and um…" The tips of his ears went red, his cheeks warm. "You might want to turn the other way." He flushed darkly, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

Annabeth didn't look much better. "Of course." She dutifully obliged, and then Percy quickly changed into Epresh's army uniform, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

"Your colors look dumb," he commented cheekily, turning to address Annabeth, only to have a small shoe chucked at his face. "What the hell!"

"Don't you dare turn around!" she exclaimed, her voice one octave higher than usual.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you weren't done yet. You didn't have to throw a _shoe_ at me, Chase!" Percy cradled his face with his hands, facing the tree once more. If he had previously thought he couldn't get any more embarrassed, this was seriously defying all expectations. "How long does it take you to change into some goddamned clothes anyways?" he complained, pinching his nose in exasperation.

"Women have a lot more stuff to deal with, you jerk," Annabeth replied snippily. "Like corsets, dumbass. I'd like to see how long _you_ take to swap outfits."

Percy was glad she couldn't see his face. "Whatever," he mumbled. He waited a few moments before she announced that she was decent. He turned and faced the blonde, and then he paused. Percy tried not to laugh, _really_ , but as tall as Annabeth was, the guards were obviously taller. She was practically _drowning_ in the military clothes, and with the little frown on her face, and a little anxious v between her eyebrows, it was comedic gold. He unsuccessfully smothered a grin, before letting loose laughter, almost like water spilling out of a dam.

"That's amazing," he observed, grinning from ear to ear.

"Stop laughing at me," Annabeth complained in turn, only making him beam wider.

"I'm sorry, it's just—" he spread his hands in a wild gesture, before doubling over in laughter again.

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Oh, I know, trust me," Percy assured her, trying to contain himself. "We should get going." He chuckled once more, inducing a dark glare from the peeved blonde. He mounted one of the two horses, only to be interrupted by Annabeth's untimely surprise.

"Oh my _god,_ don't just leave them like that!" Annabeth's hands flew up to cover her eyes, scandalized.

"What?" He whipped his head to look at what she'd turned hastily away from. On the ground, near the trees, were the two guards, dressed only in their underwear. A nasty blue welt was forming on the forehead of the first one.

"What's the big deal?" He glanced at the guards once more. "It's not like they have anything in particular to show off." He shrugged, smirking.

"Perseus, I _swear_!"

He snorted and held up his hands in surrender, even if she couldn't see, seeing as she'd dramatically turned away from the scene. "Okay, okay fine." He swept up the long orange cloth draped over one of the horses, and neatly covered them up to their necks. "Better?"

"Much," Annabeth agreed, mounting her own horse.

"Who knew you were so easily flustered?" Percy teased, watching with thinly veiled amusement as the Princess struggled to move the helmet back so she could actually _see._

"Oh, please," she added snarkily. "Don't think I didn't see your blush earlier, Mr. Jackson."

His ears went pink once more. "Touché."

* * *

**Drew**

When Drew returned to Sumisu, home finally, she had not expected to be attacked by her betrothed on her homecoming. She would have to return to Epresh soon, these wars getting out of control, and they had more war to wage, but they had returned home for some privacy with House Langen before going back to the other Houses. But Drew, perhaps naively, had believed she'd have some time to herself before having to interact with other disgusting human beings. Unfortunately, things never went like how she planned and wanted.

"Octavian Geve Langen, Duke of Kreoca." He dipped low, pressing a kiss to Drew's hand. She concealed her disgust well, offering nothing more than a placid smile. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Tanaka."

He was tall, much taller than herself and he had translucent blue-white eyes, just a slight bit bluer than his stark white, slightly ashy skin. His hair seemed to be a shade of white as well, though if Drew squinted carefully, she could see that was instead an extremely fair blond. He was skinny with bony fingers in a way that Drew suspected was unhealthy more than anything else. His skinniness only made him seem taller in a lanky sort of way.

Cecily, who had brought Octavian to her, slipped quietly out of the room, not even giving Drew one last look before leaving. Drew wished she'd stay so she wouldn't have to deal with her ridiculous cousin alone.

Her _soon-to-be husband._ The thought sent shivers down her spine.

"Would you like me to show you the castle?" she politely proposed.

"Queen Aphrodite already said you would," he dismissed. "But yes, of course."

Drew resisted a scowl. He was like _that_ , of course he was. Unfortunately for him, Drew had never been the pushover type.

"No need to be an asshole, though for you I'm sure that's hard," she sassed.

Octavian looked scandalized. And offended. Deeply offended. Good. "Watch your mouth!" he reprimanded.

"Look, let's get one thing straight, sir. I'm a higher rank than you. We both know this marriage is purely political for both you and me. We don't have to like each other, I just need you to _not_ get in my way, okay?" Drew's smile was sickenly sweet. "You don't contradict me, you don't speak for me, and you most _certainly_ don't tell me what to do. Got it?"

Octavian's eyes narrowed at her, but she could totally take him, she knew. She was a master manipulator and if he dared do anything she didn't like, she'd scream bloody murder and play the victim, an oscar-worthy performance. "Very well, Miss," he mumbled.

Drew had a feeling he wasn't used to being spoken to like she'd done, but she felt a sense of pride deep down. "And this is the infamous botanical garden…" she continued, gesturing to rows and rows of various species as far as the eye could see. Holding up her head a little higher, Drew led the way and this time, he didn't protest. She was a Princess of Sumisu, for god's sake, a jewel of House Raya. As far as she was concerned, Duke Geve could shove his opinion up from whence it came.

* * *

**Nico**

"Are you stalking me?" It tasted bitter in his mouth as he glared at the blond boy next to him.

Will paused. "No."

"You hesitated."

"No, I didn't!"

"Then why are you here?" Nico waved his arms around the courtyard outside the Pevanshire's enormous castle.

The healer flinched and Nico felt a stab of guilt. Perhaps he should have sugarcoated, but then he remembered _no_ , because he is _none_ of Will's business, none of his concern, and he asked him to stay away, and he directly disobeyed the orders of a future _King_. Nico was startled by the sudden thought. He'd never particularly saw himself as a future King, even though it was nothing short of the truth.

"I'm…" Will trailed off, licking his lips nervously, his clouded blue eyes scanning their surroundings for help. Nico thought of his eyes as the sky, clouding when he was nervous or terrified, but typically clear as bright, sunny day. The small, Italian boy crossed his arms over his chest, scowling darkly up at the medic.

"Well?" he asked, expectantly. There had to be some sort of explanation for this. _Don't try and fix me_ , he'd specifically instructed. And yet here was wonderboy once again, looking for a cause.

"I'm out in search of some herbs," Will finally decided, looking off into the distance. Nico narrowed his chocolate brown orbs at him, slowly following his line of sight to the generous garden across from the courtyard.

"Wrong garden," he drawled sarcastically, squinting up at the sunny young man.

"Really?" Will feigned surprise. He looked around in an exaggerated motion, his eyebrows raised high. He was a poor actor, terrible, in fact. Against his will, the corner of Nico's mouth turned up in amusement. "I could've sworn…"

Nico shook his head at him, smothering his smirk, considering it a weakness to show Will the state he put him in. "You're looking for the greenhouse. It has all the medicinal plants and herbs you seek."

"Oh," Will faked. "My mistake. As you know, I'm not accustomed to the Pevanshire castle, seeing as I usually serve the Ashingtons," he apologized profusely, but he could not diminish the sparkle in his eyes.

"Of course," Nico agreed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the smooth, dark table.

"Soooooo…" Will trailed off, wringing his hands adorably.

"You're a rotten actor," said Nico bluntly.

Will blinked. "Acting?" His tan cheeks colored a subtle pink. He sighed to himself, cringing cutely. "Was it really that bad?"

"Really," Nico confirmed, looking at him sideways. "Should I summon a servant to take you to the greenhouse?"

"No," Will added hastily. "I wouldn't want to bother them."

"But you'd like to bother me," Nico pointed out.

He offered a small smile. "I wasn't aware I was bothering you, Sir."

"Nico," he corrected.

"Nico," Will amended. Nico found he quite liked the way his own name sounded in _his_ mouth.

"You're not," said Nico, but only after a beat had passed.

"Excuse me?" Will's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"You're not bothering me," the Prince clarified.

"Oh." Will's grin widened, making something in Nico's chest go wild. It was followed, of course, by a sinking feeling, a _knowing_ that he was in way deeper than he'd ever expected. Nico swallowed thickly. "May I?" he gestured to the seat across from the royal.

Nico shrugged, silently permitting him to do as he wished. Will sat down. "Didn't you have a garden to scour through?"

"I was making that up, too," Will revealed with pride.

The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes. "My bad; I should've known. So, tell me. If I asked, who were you gathering herbs for?"

"Well…" Will faltered. "I was going to wing it, but I was thinking something along the lines of your great-grandmother was coughing a great deal, and it was quite concerning."

"I don't have a great-grandmother," Nico deadpanned.

"Oh. I think I said that wrong." Will frowned, thinking for a moment. "Oh, yeah! It was _my_ great-grandmother."

Nico snorted into his coffee cup. "Do you even _have_ a great-grandmother?"

"Nope." He popped the 'p.' "But my grandmother, just the regular, average, non-great kind, _she_ lives in northern Epresh," Will told him. Nico had noticed that he tended to mindlessly babble when he was on edge, a mood Nico often saw him in when he was in his own presence.

"The non-great kind?" He found himself smirking once more, despite himself. "Wow. That's harsh."

Will waved away his concerns. "She'd find it funny," he assured him.

"You're very talkative," Nico noted, staring mindlessly at the bottom of his empty cup.

"And you're not," he replied easily. "Should I refill that for you?"

Nico peered into the cup for a moment longer. "No. I'm perfectly capable of refilling a damn coffee mug myself. And besides, that was my second cup."

"Taking care of yourself, I see." Will visibly brightened.

"Don't get used to it," he retorted. It dwindled to an awkward silence. Nico quietly tapped the rim of his glass with his pointer finger.

Will stood up, the chair screeching loudly against the stone. Nico looked up at him in surprise. "You're leaving?" It escaped his mouth before he could stop himself. The younger boy internally cringed; it sounded so desperate. He didn't need Will, he didn't need a dead sister, he didn't a Queen for himself, he didn't need _anybody._ He didn't even need the goddamned heart beating in his chest, keeping him unnecessarily alive.

"I'm just going to the greenhouse."

"I thought you said you were lying earlier?" Nico's eyebrows furrowed together.

Will shrugged. "Partially. I was lying that I didn't know where it was. I'm a medic. I've already made herbal tea for King Frederick who's throat was a bit sore earlier yesterday. But I wasn't lying about going there. I could restock on a couple things while I have time."

"Oh."

Will pursed his lips at him and for some odd reason, Nico felt like he could see through his very soul. He squirmed, uncomfortable under Will's warm gaze.

"Join me?" Will offered, a tad breathless, almost as if he knew it was weird to ask a royal to join him, to hang out casually with him. It was all types of inappropriate, but Nico had never been more tempted.

Nico hesitated. "Okay," he breathed, rising to his feet. He swiftly scooped up his cup, leading the way through the black glass doors into the back of the grand kitchen. Staff were scurrying around everywhere, a pleasant aroma floating through the air— they were surely preparing for dinner already— and they paid him no attention. Nico didn't seem to mind, weaving through the bustle as if he'd done this a million times before. Because he had.

Then he noticed Will was looking at him strangely. Nico found himself wanting to explain. "I know we have staff to take care of my cups and everything," he voiced. "But it's just so much harder to clean the dishes when it's not soaked in water," he concluded, shrugging his small frame half-heartedly. He filled his mug with water, ducking smoothly under chefs carrying large trays and staff pushing hefty carts. Noticing Will's struggle to string through as effortlessly as he could, he inhaled sharply, gently taking Will's hand in his own and guiding him after him.

The blond's palm had a dull, pleasant heat, much to Nico's surprise. He relished it, despite himself. Something in Will's expression softened and feeling his face warm up, Nico looked away.

…

"I forgot how nice it is up here," Nico whispered, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets as he quietly admired the greenery around them. The sunset was streaming through the tinted glass, casting hues of orange, yellow, red, and pink across the vast greenhouse.

"It's awfully pretty," Will softly agreed. "I've heard the one in Sumisu is absolutely spectacular, considering they specialize in plants. They have the rarest of specimens."

"I don't doubt it," Nico wandered the aisles of plants, bumping awkwardly into stray leaves the size of dinner plates. Here, he didn't feel as much at home, it felt foreign. The last time he'd come up here was weeks ago, what felt like _months_ ago, with his sister. It was a bittersweet reunion, but somehow Will made it bearable.

Will seemed to know exactly what he was looking for, comfortable in a place filled with life, like him. Nico liked to think of him like a sponge, soaking in all of life's goodness and everything that made it worth living, and just wearing it on his sleeve like a star, making _him_ the embodiment of life's goodness.

The taller boy paused before a medium-sized plant under a hot lamp. It had thick, emerald-colored, heart-shaped leaves. There were tiny flowers sprouting in corners of the plant, some bronze, some light pink, some grey, and some purple. They seemed to grow alone, a decent distance between it and its brother a couple feet down.

Will's hand hovered over Nico's shoulder for a moment before awkwardly dropping to his side. "This is a Colocasia Carolinensis. It blooms once a year, for only one week." A stray grey petal of a flower blew onto the ground. "Looks like the week is finishing up," Will murmured mournfully. "Shame. It's a beautiful plant. And useful, too," he told Nico.

The Prince reached out, his pale hand nearly translucent. It was a stark white against the vivid greens. "I've never seen grey flowers," he spoke softly.

"Wait, Nico—"

Nico drew his hand back in surprise. His ring finger was pricked, like he was Sleeping Beauty or something. A droplet of blood pooled on the pad of his finger. He blinked, glancing back at the Colocasia Carolinensis.

Will's eyebrows furrowed together in concern. "As a defense mechanism, it grows thick thorns." Sure enough, ashy thorns had curled around the plant's flowers, spiky and sharp like darts.

"That's— that's incredible." Nico looked up at Will. "I don't think I've ever seen these before."

"Like I said, they bloom so rarely," Will whispered. Nico followed his gaze to his own blood-stained hand. Will was a bit preoccupied by his injury, it seemed.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Nico murmured. "It didn't even hurt."

"I should've warned you about the thorns sooner," said Will, guilt-ridden.

"It's not that big of a deal," the Prince assured him.

"It is to me," he promised, earnestly. "Luckily, however, like I said earlier, it's a useful plant. Hold on." Nico watched, mesmerized, as Will plucked a leaf off the plant, brushing it against the thorns. The thorns obediently drew back, sheathing itself. Then he swiftly broke off a couple petals of the dainty flowers.

"How did you do that?"

Will took Nico's hand in his own, and the Prince inhaled sharply at the unexpected contact. He watched in mild fascination as the healer easily wrapped the petals of the flower around his finger, like he'd done it a million times before.

"The plant only builds up thorns when it feels something other than its own breed of plants. It only shield its flowers, since the leaves have no real value. If you brush its own leaf against itself, you can trick the Colocasia Carolinensis to believe it's only brushing up against a plant of its own kind, and then you take the petals of the flower." Will examined his finger quietly, adding pressure to the cut. "And—" He unwrapped the petals after a moment, revealing a perfectly healed finger. There was no trace left behind, not the smallest mark that even indicated Nico had ever gotten pricked at all. "The best part is its healing properties. It can heal any cut, no matter how big or small in a matter of minutes."

Nico held up his own hand, inspecting his finger in a quiet awe. "That's crazy," he muttered to himself.

"That's why it's so valuable," Will agreed. "And because it grows so rarely, it's ridiculously expensive. It can heal those on the brink of death from blood loss, it can cure the most hopeless of men."

"So for an army, it's a major advantage," Nico reasoned.

"Precisely."

"Thank you, um, for…" Nico awkwardly held up his hand.

Will chuckled lightly. "It's no problem. You best remember that plant," he advised. "I've heard you have a tendency to get some killer injuries."

Nico shrugged, embarrassed.

"Now help me carry this stuff to the infirmary."

It was strange to be ordered around by someone that wasn't his mother, but something about this was very different in the best way possible. Nico did as he was told.

* * *

**Piper**

"Little brother!" Thalia exclaimed like a little kid. She smirked deviously.

"Thalia," Jason breathed. He gripped onto the bars in front of him. For some reason, they'd put him in a cell. It was a weirdly _nice_ cage. The room had soft carpet floors and clean white sheets on a fluffy, average-sized bed. It even had a pale blue comforter. On the side was a dark nightstand with a golden lamp, and on the left was a tall bookshelf full of dusty covers Piper didn't recognize. The entire setup was surrounded by iron rods standing tall, and a top, caging him into the comfortable hell. Right outside the bars was a medium-sized window; the sun streamed into his cell.

" _Jason,"_ Thalia mocked.

"They put him in a cage?" Piper asked, surprised, approaching him cautiously as if the bars would zap her or something. She timidly reached for the rods and relaxed only when nothing exploded.

"They?" Thalia snorted. "I put him in."

"What?" Jason's head snapped up. "Why?"

Behind them, Reyna rolled her eyes and left the room. Piper glanced at Thalia.

"It was funny." She grinned at him and Jason's mouth fell open.

"I thought they were going to kill me!" he stressed.

Thalia waved away his worries. "Oh, please. You really think I'd let them do that to you?"

"You _did_ put him in a cage," Piper muttered under her breath. Jason shot her a grateful look.

"Who's side are you on, pan flute?" Thalia retorted, pursing her lips at Piper.

"Pan flute?" Piper made a noise of protest in the back of her throat.

Thalia laughed. "It's a comfortable cage, anyways. At least I didn't throw you into a cold cell. Quit being such a baby." Her eyes sparkled and fishing keys out of a pocket Piper had not noticed earlier, she freed her brother from his entrapment, explaining the whole while. "Besides, the Queen wanted to interrogate you first and maybe _actually_ throw you into a cold cell. You're lucky I vouched for you and that we're related."

"Not everyone related are similar," Piper meekly mentioned.

Thalia snorted. "Only if you're one of those mad royals, like you."

Piper didn't even have it in her to be offended. The Amazon girl didn't seem to mean much harm, she simply didn't bother to filter herself.

"Like the Calbournes!" She shook her head. "Those guys are crazy. And King Lukey with that betrayal, that's some excellent content."

Jason rolled his eyes and Piper, who had previously found it strange that were siblings (with the exception of their eyes, they hardly looked related), could finally see the connection between them in their chemistry.

"They're not a teen drama, Thalia, that you watch for enjoyment," he reprimanded, but there was a subtle curve to his mouth that couldn't be mistaken.

"Then they should quit putting on such a show."

"All royals put on a show," Piper pointed out. "Believe me, I know."

Thalia stuck a skinny white finger out towards her. "You're from the Rayas, are you not?"

"I am," Piper permitted, not really sure where this was going. She bit the inside of cheek as an act of nervosity.

"The fashion freaks," the Amazonian teased. "I bet you guys are _super_ deadly. Satin, not pure silk! Oh, the horror!" she joked. She tilted her head to better scrutinize the brunette. Piper cracked a smile. She wasn't _wrong;_ Aphrodite had had her fair share of breakdowns over horrendous fashion choices. They had a reputation to uphold, after all, as the leaders in the industry of cosmetics, beauty, and fashion.

"Let her be, Thalia," Jason sympathized. He sighed.

"No, it's okay," Piper promised, tilting her chin up. Drew had always been much worse. And their mother, God forbid. She could handle herself just fine; she had jade in her veins. "Actually, Thalia, I'll have you know our knowledge of herbs is poisonous, no pun intended." She held up her hands in surrender and the dark-haired girl clicked her tongue in distaste at the pun in poor taste.

"So what are you going to do? Wave basil in my face until I pass out?" Thalia's eyes took on a dangerous gleam. She was testing her, _everyone_ was testing her and all the time. But Piper would be awarded a rank by the Queen herself if she proved herself, if she was worthy enough, and the brunette had never been more up to the challenge.

"When we passed the stream to come here to Jason's… er… _cell_ , I saw a bit of Aquatic Thimbleweed poking out of the water surface," she began. Out of the corner of her eye, Jason looked uncomfortable as if he was witnessing a bloody showdown between two vicious women. He wasn't too far from the truth. Thalia didn't mean to goad her on, but it came off that way, Piper knew.

"That plant is virtually useless," Thalia scoffed, eager for Piper's reaction.

"Ah, but you see, that's where you're mistaken," Piper corrected. "There's a liquid, a mint-colored fluid in the root ends of Aquatic Thimble that, when boiled with _basil_ funny enough, can kill a grown man in thirty seconds flat. You knew that too, didn't you?"

Thalia pressed her lips together, but if Piper wasn't mistaken, she seemed _proud._ It was a relief, more than anything else. Jason seemed horrified.

"And Piranha Cane is more useful than simply serving as a natural sweetener for pastries. You can chew the leaves raw to kick a nicotine addiction. And Eofrite, commonly grown for their pretty flowers, can be encouraged to release a thick syrup if fed properly, which can then be released as vapor into the air to serve as a mass-hallucigen for large crowds. You can take out people in the radius of a couple miles because the _smallest_ whiff can drive a person wild. Too much of the air can make them foam at the mouth until their inevitable death." Piper paused to find Jason's wide eyes carefully trained on her, and Thalia, unsuccessfully disguising the fact that she was impressed, regarding her with a fraction of a smile.

"Plants, I think you'll find, can kill just as well as they heal, and you'd be a fool to forget it, or to mock a botanical specialist. House Raya can kill, and kill well, but most importantly, we can make it look like an accident," Piper cautioned. " _That_ is why we are, and forever will be, one of the most dangerous Houses, despite all the royals that look down upon us."

"Hey, woodwind?" Thalia inquired, squinting at her.

Piper could feel her heart pounding heavily in her chest. "Yes?"

"I think you'll fit in here just fine." A muscle in her cheek twitched and Thalia looked at her as if she knew something Piper didn't.

Relief washed over the brunette. Reyna had been rather impassive to her, most of the Amazons had shot her strange looks seeing as if she hadn't been given a bandana yet, Artemis was so clearly doubting her ability to follow through, but here was Thalia, finally giving her the acceptance she seeked.

"Thank you," she whispered. Piper felt strangely honored. Thalia was a tough cookie to crack and her validation meant the world to her.

"And oh, if Jase here ever gets too annoying, you have my full blessing to poison him." Thalia grinned, slipping out of the room.

Jason stared after her, dumbfounded. "She is _nothing_ like what I thought she'd be."

Piper laughed, the pressure on her chest easing. "Really? I think her personality quite suits her."

"Maybe," he shrugged. He stretched tall, rolling his shoulders forward. Piper imagined it must've been nice to be out of the cage, no matter how comfortable it appeared. A cage was a cage, end of story. "Also, please don't poison me. I take my criticism verbally, thank you very much," he added, sheepishly.

Piper grinned. "We'll see. Now come on." She reached for the door handle, swinging it wide open.

"Where are we going?" He combed through his hair with his fingers hastily.

"First, to get you in a shower." Piper wrinkled her nose and he laughed, his cheeks tinting an adorable pink. "And then second to the campfire. Apparently they hold a bonfire one night each week to go over strategies, bond with the Canadians some more, trade information, make large announcements that weren't emergency-esque enough to interrupt daily activities with. It's a lot of fun and very informative, I've heard. Plus they choose people for missions, and I want to get picked," she explained as she lead him outside and to the housing. Perhaps they could find him a dorm to stay in with fellow Canadian men rather than staying in Thalia's idea of a joke.

"You want to get picked?" Jason couldn't hide his surprise. "We just got here and those are dangerous."

Piper shrugged, though she couldn't fight the butterflies going wild in the pit of her stomach. She could _die._ Then again with all these wars, anyone could die anytime. No one was safe, not even for a moment, and she wasn't deluded enough to ignore that.

"I have to prove my value."

"Your value? Thalia likes you, Piper. You heard her yourself, she said you'll be good here."

"I know," Piper assured him. "But I have a Queen to entertain."

"The Queen?"

"I'm on deathrow," Piper explained. "Prove myself and I'll be promoted as one of the Queen's chosen. Screw up and I'm done for. There's no use crying about it. I can only do my best now, and only ever that." She swallowed thickly.

Jason paled. "I'm going to need more of an explanation than that. We've been here barely a day and you're already on the road to your end? Piper?" His adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

As they strolled through the green grass and weaved through crowds of people, all looking at Piper like she was an alien, she began to explain the events he'd missed while locked up. Jason seemed afraid for her, a quiet kind of fear for her that Piper couldn't understand. She could do this, she had no other choice. And if this was her end, that was simply her destiny, her fate, nothing more, nothing less.

Piper narrowed her eyes in front of her, promptly ignoring the stray stares and hissed whispers. If they forgot themselves, she would remind them from where she hailed. They had goaded the wrong Princess; let them believe she was worth nothing, let them believe she was nothing more than a dirty piece of coal. She herself knew that she had jade in her veins and purple diamonds in her heart, and to her, that was all that mattered.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Annabeth?" The blonde spun hastily to see a dark-haired beauty adorned in gold with her mouth agape. The General.

"Reyna!" she exclaimed, her relief obvious. The General glared at someone beside her and then Annabeth swallowed stiffly, the memories flooding back to her. This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought; Percy had _tortured_ them, had tortured Reyna, Hylla, and Thalia— Reyna taking the brunt of it— and he'd indirectly killed Zoe, another Amazonian.

"You brought him here?"

"Um…"

"I _knew_ I liked you." Reyna beamed, triumphant.

What? Annabeth's eyebrows pinched together. "What are you—"

And then she shot him.

…

"We're going to win; Luke will be demolished, Annabeth," Thalia promised earnestly. That was bullshit and she knew it. There was no way on Earth Luke would go down so quickly. Her and Percy, they knew Luke more than anybody else in the world, and she knew that he would have agreed in a split second. Someone had given these people false hope, false expectations and it wasn't going to end well.

"I don't know, Thalia. I don't trust it. He's too smart for a simple takeover to send him under."

Reyna curled the edges of the map in front of them. "Perhaps we should ask the other Princess as well."

Immediately Annabeth was on alert. "Other Princess? Piper?" She held her breath.

"That's the one," Thalia agreed. "Her and her Prince Charming." She smirked.

"Jason?" Annabeth's heart beat wildly.

"My little brother," Thalia confirmed. "You know each other, right?"

That was the understatement of the year. At the end of the day, no matter what happened, Jason was her best friend in the _entire_ world. She would have to pay him a visit later, but right now, it would be so unprofessional to run out in political, strategic conversation, especially when she had thrown away her entire life to be here right now, at the top of the strategists.

They sat in a stony silence, interrupted by a half groan. Annabeth's head snapped over to her left where Percy was passed out on a couch. They had shot him with a goddamn dart to make him fall asleep. After hotly debating with the Amazons, Annabeth had just managed to not allow them to lock him up in a cold cell and put him in a more comfortable cell like the one they'd used for Jason. But they had locked him nonetheless and Annabeth seriously doubted he was going to get out easily anytime soon. They had guards positioned by his cell 24/7 like a true captor.

Annabeth felt a stab of guilt. She had convinced him to come with her, and sure, she'd kept him from dying at the hands of his own brother, but she had practically taken him out of one cage only to put him in another, and this time it was one of her own. She did, however, take solace in the fact that however much the cage kept him trapped in, it kept bloodthirsty, vengeful Amazons from hurting him.

The blonde rose to her feet at his stirring. She tried not to show any semblance of caring, carefully guarding her expression to remain impassive. She was dimly aware of Reyna on her right and Thalia on her left, the three of them peering into the cage at the Amazonian prisoner.

"What's to happen to him?" Annabeth schooled her tone.

"We're not sure yet," Thalia murmured.

"That'll be up to the Queen," Reyna concurred.

Annabeth felt like something was stuck in her throat and she couldn't quite swallow it. There was a very good chance he would be sent to be publicly executed, most likely so that Luke would hear about it, all to send the message that the Amazons were stronger than him, to intimidate the soldiers in Luke's army, to prove they can take down an enemy of _Luke's_ faster than the King himself can. At least, that's what Annabeth would have done if it was her own prisoner.

But as much as Annabeth told herself Percy was her capture just as much as any other Amazonian, she couldn't bring herself to feel that way. Percy and her… they had this unspoken mutual agreement, and she knew with everything in her, that, if given the chance, she would break him free in a moment's notice and she prayed he lived long enough to guarantee his release, his freedom.

Percy groaned, sitting up slowly in the bed and dazedly blinking away the confusion in front of him. She watched as realization dawned upon him and he crawled out of the bed to touch the bars almost as if he believed they weren't real. He didn't look at her and it made this deep crawling sensation of regret haunt Annabeth.

Thalia sneered at the Prince. Annabeth could understand her anger; Percy had tortured her General, Reyna like nothing mattered. And it didn't. At the time. As time had passed, Annabeth had learned to trust his instincts and had seen his softer side on numerous occasions he comforted her spiraling thoughts. She, too, had seen his playful side, the one that teased her relentlessly, the one who called her reckless and then kissed her anyways because he could. The one who made _terrible_ puns, really, really bad, and then laughed at them all by himself. The one who still cracked jokes even after suffering the most out of anyone Annabeth had ever met.

"How the tables have turned," Thalia jeered. Annabeth flinched. It reminded her all too well of the moment in the ballroom that Percy had realized she was a closeted Amazon warrior, when he had understood her alliance and the look on his face… it had never left her, even now.

Reyna held up a hand to her lieutenant and Thalia obediently shut her mouth. Reyna, Annabeth had decided, was the only person who could truly control the free-spirited girl, besides perhaps the Queen herself.

"We checked you for injuries earlier, Perseus. Besides the bandage on your bicep, placed to heal the cut from the dart we shot at you, are there any new injuries we are unaware of?" Reyna inquired eloquently.

"No." Percy's voice was gruff, and then he finally looked over at her. For some reason, he didn't seem angry, as if he understood that his situation was better than it could have been, and only because of the blonde. Perhaps he wasn't angry and Annabeth was reading the situation wrong. But then why was the pit in her stomach churning?

"Very well," Reyna permitted. "You will be brought before the Queen tomorrow morning—"

"—which is still so much more than you deserve. If we'd done this my way, you'd be dead already, little Prince," Thalia growled, cutting in. She bared her teeth like a lioness.

Percy didn't raise to her bait.

"Enough, Lieutenant," Reyna ordered and Thalia backed down again. "You will be interrogated and put on trial for your crimes. Your sentence will go as she says, nothing more, nothing less. The Queen's word is God, and you pray that she'll have mercy." Reyna's jaw was set and though she did not engage in untimely outbursts, Annabeth could see that she wore her anger on her sleeve just like Thalia. This was not a good sign. Annabeth could feel a growing headache building inside of her.

Percy didn't respond again.

"You will be surrounded by guards 24/7, so do not even bother to try anything. They will not hesitate to beat you until you learn, if that serves as an incentive, to keep you alive just to suffer. They will also deliver your meal in a few hours for dinner. If you are in need of water, ask them. You will never leave this cell except to use the restroom, in which case, they will accompany you. This is not up for debate. That is all, Perseus."

Annabeth practically _felt_ his wince at the use of his given, Christian name. She _knew_ him so well; she knew he hated it. Reyna had said _meal_ , as in one. As if he wouldn't live long enough to have breakfast the next day, and then lunch. She wanted to throw up.

"Come, Annabeth, the bonfire will be beginning soon. We have much to present to the Canadian council and your thoughts on the recent strategies have been enlightening. I'm sure the Queen will be intrigued and we mustn't keep her waiting."

Thalia shot Percy another ice-cold glare, one that could freeze blood, before slipping out of the doorway.

"One moment," called after the General. Reyna followed in suit, but not without giving Annabeth a look of knowing. "I'll be right there," she said, though she was only talking to herself. Annabeth was acutely aware of the guards staring at the door stoically as she approached the prisoner.

"Percy," she murmured, almost subconsciously, as she reached through the bars for him. He didn't reach for her, but allowed her to take his warm hand in his nonetheless.

"You should go. They're waiting on you," he reasoned, his voice hoarse. It felt like a stab to the heart, both his tone, and his words.

"Percy," she pleaded. "I fought to get you this far. I'm _trying._ I won't let them kill you, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," said Percy, but it felt half-hearted, as if he'd just said it a million times instead. Somehow, that felt worse.

"Percy, I—"

"Annabeth, I'm not angry." He just looked exhausted.

She bit her bottom lip. "I would be."

"Well, that's the difference between us, then," he whispered.

Annabeth squeezed his hand tightly, offering a morbid smile. "One of the many," she agreed.

He smiled half-heartedly back. "I was always going to die, whether at the hand of my own brother, my step-mother who practically controls him, the Amazons, or the Canadians. Now all that's up in the air is who will have the honor." He grinned, but it was crooked and empty.

"No, Percy—"

"Annabeth, I swear. I'll make the guards throw you out if you don't go. Don't incense them further. I'll be okay, and if I'm not, then that's all the more fun, isn't it?" His hand went slack around the bar.

"You're too valuable," Annabeth refused, she couldn't accept this, not for anything in the world. He would not die. Over her own goddamn dead body. "You know _him_ better than even me." She could not bear to say Luke's name. "You are, in so many ways, our main strategist, having sat through each and every royal council meeting of House Calbourne, many of House Ashington's, and even a few of Raya's. You _will_ survive, I'll make them understand the information they're throwing away."

"Annabeth," he protested. "It's a lost cause."

Then she glared at him, maybe even angrier than Thalia because he took a step back. "You listen to me, Perseus Jackson Calbourne," she spat. " _I_ decide what's a lost cause and what's not. _I_ decide when I give up on things, on people. You'll make it out of here. You helped me out of _his_ cage, and I'll help you out of this one. Do you understand?"

His shoulders slumped forward and that was perhaps the first time Annabeth truly understood just how tired he was. His exhaustion ran bone-deep. His fatigue ran mentally deep. A prickle of sympathy pierced her.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she vowed. "And the day after that, and after that, and even after that."

"Giving me three days?" he joked, but it was weak. She could see through him like glass. He was forcing confidence and she could detect it better than _anyone_ else; she herself was the queen of forced confidence. She let his emotional walls stay up and feigned obliviousness to his moods, his quirks, his habits, _him,_ wholly him.

"And so many more," Annabeth professed.

His arms dropped to his sides, no longer allowing her to pull him close. Glancing back at him one last time, Annabeth ran to catch up after her fellow Amazon warriors.

"Just in time. I was about to send Gwen to fetch you," Thalia took a seat next to the blonde. Reyna quietly slipped next to Annabeth's other side. Thalia turned to talk to someone on her right as the fire burned brightly in the middle. People chatted mindlessly while waiting, anticipating the Queen's presence. And then, only when no one else could hear, did Reyna speak, surprising the blonde. She was a young woman of few words, but powerful.

"You really don't do subtle, do you?" Reyna continued to stare straight ahead.

Annabeth played with the hem of her clean t-shirt nervously. "Excuse me?"

"I know you have both been through a lot," Reyna admitted. "I know you have a bond, albeit strange, but nonetheless there."

Annabeth opened and closed her mouth, deciding not to interrupt. Reyna was not the type of girl to stop when she was serious.

"I understand, I do, really. But at the end of the day, you mustn't forget yourself, the oath for which you have sworn your life to. We will ascend, for gold and glory," the dark-haired girl recited coolly.

"He's valuable," Annabeth weakly argued. "They're making a mistake."

"The Queen doesn't often make mistakes," Reyna corrected her. Annabeth sighed; it was true, of course it was.

"I know but—"

"But I think you're mistaken," Reyna continued. "You act as if the Queen has already ordered his end, whereas she hasn't even evaluated him yet. She is wise beyond her years, wiser than any of us, no matter the pride some of us carry. She would not be Queen if she wasn't. I would advise to keep your faith close and remember who you have bet on. Give her a chance."

Annabeth hesitated. "What if she says he must die?" She picked at her nails in frustration.

"Then he dies." Reyna's gaze darkened. "And that's that."

"I can't let that happen, Reyna," Annabeth whispered, looking at her, a v creasing between her eyebrows. "I just _can't._ He's done too much for me. I owe it to him." She willed the General to give her the time of day. She didn't disappoint.

Reyna met her eyes. "I know, Annabeth. Believe me, I know it's difficult. But you owe it to the sisterhood before you owe it to him. Do not be so foolish that you forget your place. And besides, at his core, he's a machine, nothing more, nothing less."

"But you don't know him like I do," the blonde persisted. "He's more than a machine. He has deductive reasoning and a kind heart, and he's intelligent, resourceful, an advantage on our side."

"You can make the case to the Queen before she evaluates him," Reyna conceded, shrugging slightly. "But your affection blinds you, Annabeth."

Annabeth's lips parted in surprise. "I'm not affectionate."

"—but you _are_ biased," Reyna pointed out. Annabeth didn't deny the truth Reyna spoke. "And Annabeth, bias is never good in war. Trust me."

Annabeth bit the inside of her cheek.

The Princess remembered back to his viciousness, his ruthless streak in the arena, his slaying of the monster in the woods, and most horrifying, his display of pent up anger and his callous side when he tortured the Amazons, specifically Reyna, in that cold cell. It was a terrifying image she tried not to think of often, but Reyna was right, as always. She could not be so blind to overlook his mistakes.

For every act of kindness, he was merciless with others. He picked who he loved, protected them with his life, and turned into a monster to those who dared threaten those he'd sworn his loyalty to. In some ways, the trait was admirable, his fatal flaw of loyalty, but in others, it was this large, alarming, unpredictable force not to be reckoned with.

"Reyna?" Annabeth's voice felt small when she spoke, like a child. It was one thing to be unsure of where one stood on the spectrum, but to question every choice one had ever made, to question one's loyalty, to question one's existence? It was too much to take in from one setting.

Reyna looked back to the fire and the absentminded chatter dulled to a silence, one that Annabeth could only assume meant the Queen had arrived. Reyna stood up and Annabeth followed in suit. Annabeth had to break down a strategy first on the agenda. As they made their way to the front, Reyna finally replied to Annabeth's prior request for reassurance. She whispered quietly, so softly that Annabeth barely heard it, and when she did, she felt more conflicted than ever before:

"He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature."


	15. True Colors

**Annabeth**

"Our first order of business to win this war is a proper strategy. I believe I know what we must do first," Annabeth began, scouring the eyes of her peers, attracting their attention. She took a deep breath and she was dimly aware of Reyna glancing at her in a mixture of confusion and concern. She braced herself for the uproar.

"We have to assassinate Queen Medusa of Thasite," the blonde announced.

There was a beat of silence and then—

Chaos unleashed in front of the campfire. Women and men as well, no matter how much fewer, were yelling on top of each other, arguing, agreeing, panicking, bloodthirsty. It was _insane._ Fortunately, Reyna always seemed to have a handle on things.

"Silence!" the General hissed, and the crowd fell dead silent, the only sound being the flickering and crackling of the fire swallowing the tower of logs. "Let her speak," Reyna demanded, controlling the room with ease. Artemis cocked her head and the blonde felt her eyes on her, making her sweaty and nervous. Wiping the palms of her hands on herself, she took a deep breath.

"King Luke Castellan Calbourne," she continued, and his name made a shiver go down her back. She had never really healed, she supposed. The wound of his backstab felt as fresh as the day they stood there in the dark, in that courtyard, consulting Reyna.

Looking across the sea of faces, she spotted Jason and met his gaze. He nodded in understanding; they'd talk later. Next to him was Piper, a girl Annabeth had never been particularly close with, her being a Raya and everything, but she _did_ help her and Percy escape that wretched castle. She would talk to her later as well, she'd decided.

Someone jeered at the mention of the King, but Reyna looked in their direction for a split second, and they jerked backwards, blending back into the crowd.

"Everyone fears him," Annabeth explained, her hand trembling at her side. Even _talking_ about him made her feel all weird inside. "But the main culprit of the death of people is the woman _behind_ him," she articulated. "Queen Medusa is vicious, but she controls his every move." It made her question how much of Luke she had really known. When he showed he had cared about her, how much of it had been an act, and how much of it had been Medusa telling him what to do? There _had_ to be more to it, there just _had_ to—

"Annabeth," Thalia reminded her. Oh, right. She'd been talking.

"If we take away his whisperer, his source of power, his main strategist, he will be weaker. We cannot forget that he is just a boy."

"The Boy King," Thalia sneered. Even Reyna's fist tightened around her spear, her knuckles turning white.

Annabeth licked her lips nervously. "He's smart, don't get me wrong. I was… blindsided by him." Her face felt warm, exposed here in front of the Amazons and the Canadians. They all knew of her story, of course, Luke had broadcasted her and Percy in a bad light constantly, making him seem like the perfect King and Medusa, a mere weeping widow. "He's a master manipulator. But nobody out-does his mother, that _snake_ ," she spit, fuming. All she felt was empty, unable to match the anger of her fellow Amazonians. "He will still be difficult to beat alone, but unless we exterminate the Queen, we will _never_ win. With just him… he will slip up in the future. Nobody can tell how long it will be till he makes a mistake, but he will be sloppier, and eventually, that will be his downfall."

Artemis tilted her chin up. "So how do you suggest we go about this, Annabeth?" Her long, dark eyelashes made Annabeth swallow hard.

"A questing group of four," she proposed. "Two Amazons and two Canadians. First, we'll go to Epresh. I have some materials there I'd like to collect to use for our advantage."

There were murmurs among the crowd. It would be extremely dangerous, and not to mention, painful to return to a place that was once home, a place haunted by memories of her childhood and her family and her old life, but it was necessary.

"And then we sneak into Thasite. I have been to the castle a few times, so I know where Medusa lounges. We will arrive in the dark of the night and kill her in her sleep," Annabeth reported, her voice dwindling near the end of her plan. "She is too well guarded in the day. It's our only shot."

"How long do you expect this mission to take?" Artemis queried.

"One or two days, Lady Artemis." Her voice was hoarse.

"I approve," said the Queen after a moment of silence. "Council?"

The Canadian council looked at each other, silently voting with hand signals. "We approve, also," a redhead girl in the middle declared.

"General?" The Queen turned to Reyna. Reyna shared a look with Thalia.

Reyna cleared her throat. "We approve, also."

"Excellent," Artemis sat back in her seat. Her flesh was pale and the fire made dangerous shadows dance on her cheekbones. "Who's going?"

"I plan to go," Annabeth told her. "I have to. I'm the only one familiar with both castles, and I'm the only one who knows what I need from the Ashington castle. I would suggest bringing the Prince along as well." Artemis' eyes felt cold on her, curious, yet unyielding. "But I am aware that his trial is tomorrow and that he will most likely not be allowed on the mission, despite his extensive knowledge of Thasite and its castle." Percy would've been perfect. "I suppose the other three members will be volunteer-based."

Nobody looked eager to go. It would be dangerous, far more dangerous than fighting in the damn war. If they were captured, interrogation was sure to follow in suit, and they would have to die painfully to keep Amazonian secrets private.

"Who wishes to accompany me from the Amazons?" Annabeth requested, looking from face to face. Many looked down, not meeting her eyes. The crickets chirped in the grass around them. And then—

"I volunteer."

Almost simultaneously, everyone slowly spun to look where the small voice had come from. The crowd parted to reveal the familiar brunette. Princess Piper McLean Raya. The Queen narrowed her eyes on the poor girl, but Piper didn't seem to wilt under her gaze nearly as much as others.

"I have been to the Thasite castle as well, though probably far less times than you," Piper said, summoning her courage, or at least, that's what Annabeth assumed. "I, too, know the ways of royalty."

"Perfect," Annabeth accepted the brunette easily. She might've been a Raya, but she was here, was she not? Drew was one person, but perhaps Piper wasn't as bad as she seemed.

"And for the Canadians?"

"I'll go." The redhead who'd confirmed the Canadian support earlier stood up, not hesitating to volunteer. It was a surprise after the dead silence the blonde had been met with after requesting for another Amazonian. She approached Annabeth and though she had been raised not to trust easily, something about her warm smile felt genuine. It was a relief.

"Rachel Elizabeth Dare," the girl introduced herself, outstretching her pale hand, sprinkled with elegant freckles. Her nails were squared off and short in a way that made Annabeth suspect she was some type of artist, whether it was painting or musical instruments. "I'm part of the Canadian council, but you could probably already deduce that."

Annabeth shook her hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she managed to answer, but it sounded so… foreignly _royal_ in her mouth, only reminding her of who she'd been and where she was going. Her stomach turned over itself, and she swallowed down bile.

"I'd like to volunteer as well." Annabeth met the gaze of golden eyes. She was petite, but ethereal with the eyes of a CGI wolf and fierce coils of hair. The blonde was dimly aware that except for Piper, they were all curly-haired warriors. It was weirdly reassuring, like they had _meant_ to be on this team together, even though she was well aware that thought was irrational and unrealistic.

"Annabeth Chase Ashington." She shook the smaller girl's hand.

"Hazel Levesque," she replied, calmly. Annabeth found that Hazel's voice was incredibly soothing. "I'm a former military officer for Canada, but I gave up the position after a couple of years, regardless of how fulfilling, to support the movement." Her voice was small, like her, but something inside Annabeth warned her not to doubt Hazel. She was probably ridiculously impressive with a weapon in her hands, a jack of all trades, or at the very least, Hazel could most likely land a solid punch and kick combo. The perfect addition to the team. She seemed young, too, reminding Annabeth all too well of Nico, a boy she would do _anything_ for to keep safe after indirectly playing a hand in his sister's death. Though Hazel seemed kinder and more open than the Pevanshire son, the resemblance was uncanny. Annabeth looked away before it haunted her some more.

"With your blessing, I plan to leave tomorrow morning, at dawn to reach Epresh early enough."

Artemis granted her wish, turning her attention to Reyna. The General was reporting the next order of business, rattling off statistics, deaths, numbers, squad numbers, and so much more, but Annabeth wasn't really listening. She left the center quietly, dreading what was awaiting her in Epresh, a home away from home now. She was hardly aware of Thalia's supportive squeeze of her shoulder as she filed through the crowd, looking for a place to sit.

"Annabeth."

She turned to meet her fellow blond best friend and former royal guard. It felt like she hadn't seen him in _ages._

"Jason," she breathed, a reluctant smile finding its way on her face. It seemed that he could _always_ cheer her up, no matter the situation. She slid onto the bench with him and Piper, and a few other people who weren't paying them any attention, looking at Reyna in the front instead.

He reached for her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Here, no one could judge. Here, there were no royal mothers to chastise her for playing with her reputation. Here, no one could tell her no, that she couldn't love him and talk to him and respect him. Here, there were no limits for her affection, however small she wore it.

Jason smelled like everything good and comforting and _homely._ He smelled of the wind, and fresh air, and jets shooting through the sky, and big, fluffy, cream clouds.

"How— when did you get here?" Annabeth inquired. "Thalia told me you were here, but I hadn't gotten a chance to see you yet, and I had no idea what had happened to you."

"I'm okay," he promised. "The people here are awfully nice." He beamed, and Annabeth remembered why she had always liked him in the first place. Jason, once you got past his intimidating demeanor, was a soft, cuddly puppy: happy, loyal, and energetic. "Thalia put me in a cage." He laughed.

Annabeth's jaw dropped. " _What?"_

"Relax," Jason assured her. "She thought it was funny. I didn't even know she was _alive,_ Annabeth," he whisper-yelled, his sky blue eyes gleaming with happiness. "I haven't seen her since I was a toddler, and I just— I've missed her _so_ much. To have a sibling… it's irreplaceable, no matter of a pain in the butt she is, sometimes." Of course he wouldn't even say 'ass,' ever the gentleman.

Annabeth was reminded of Malcolm at his description. "I agree," said the blonde, softly.

Jason hesitated, taking time to understand. "That was insensitive of me. I'm sorry about your brother," he whispered, squeezing her hand tightly. Annabeth held on for dear life. It had been so long since she had truly leaned on someone for support, and Jason was one of the few she could entirely trust like this. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

"It's not like he's dead," she murmured, trying to console herself, and him, also. "And don't apologize. You haven't had your sister all your life. I'm happy for you." And she was. With a guy like Jason, jealousy shouldn't have touched him and his pure soul. The Grace brother rubbed soothing circles on the inside of her wrist, a habit not many knew soothed her. Only Jason and Malcolm, and now… only Jason given the circumstances.

"Love you," Jason whispered. Annabeth knew it was his way of apologizing after she'd said no need for apologies. He had always been comfortable with using the L-word, something that Annabeth suffered severely from, given her stiff upbringing and royal lifestyle. It had taken her _years_ to be comfortable using it with him.

"Love you, too," she disclosed. "Now— I'm not stupid. I've seen you make eyes at that pretty brunette over there." She discreetly pointed to Piper on his other side, who was fully engrossed in whatever Reyna was still saying. "Want to introduce me or are you going to continue to play dumb?"

Jason grinned, his cheeks flushing rose. "I don't like you."

"Liar. You just said you _love_ me, your _best_ friend in the _entire_ world," she accused, smirking.

"Shush," he chastised, much to her amusement, as he turned to get Piper's attention. Annabeth crossed her arms over her chest. Jason grew up like an orphan: fatherless and motherless, but loved by her. She'd grown up in a cold and uncaring world, but loved by him. He might not have had a mother, but he was damn stupid if he thought she wasn't going to grill Piper to make sure she was good enough for him. And Piper would have to work extra hard, being a sneaky Raya and all that.

She smothered down a smile, politely shaking Piper's hand as Jason went on and on about his poorly-concealed crush. She was content to see him happy.

Victories were small around here; she would take whatever she could get.

* * *

**Drew**

"I like your dress."

Drew looked up in surprise. She had thought she was alone, and most people knocked before entering a room, even if the door was open. Her eyes landed on the small ginger girl she'd met a short while ago. Koehn of House Langen.

"Thank you," Drew graciously accepted the compliment.

Cecily tilted her head at the sage green gown she was wearing. "That would look gorgeous with gold earrings." She still hadn't entered the room, just standing outside. Cecily, Drew had decided, was so polite it made her wonder if she was really even related to Octavian or any of those bloodthirsty Langen asshats.

"You can come in, you know," Drew found herself saying before she could stop herself.

Cecily walked into the room, her pale hands folded together in a nervous gesture. Drew decided to take pity on her, sitting down in front of her vanity to not seem so intimidating.

"It's been a while since someone around here likes fashion," said the Princess, glancing up at Cecily, opening a velvet purple box. Inside were two gold earrings, two of many, _many_ pairs, surely. "Silena and Piper have no fashion sense, _especially_ Piper, my mother is too busy, and I haven't been to Paris in a month or two." Drew held up a delicate earring, holding it up to her dress to see how the shades of color interacted. It had a rosebud at the very top, and then it was a long line that dangled an inch or two. The rosebud was adorned with diamonds around the petals.

"I'm not a fashion icon or anything," Cecily murmured gently, smiling kindly. "So please don't expect too much."

Drew showed the earring to Cecily, who nodded a little. Drew put them in, searching through endless boxes for a ring in mind. "That's alright," she said in return. "It's just nice to have a—"

She cut herself off, swallowing hard. Cecily couldn't be friends with her. Octavian was a psychopathic bastard and Drew would be damned if she had anything more to do with that family if she could avoid it.

Cecily pretended she hadn't heard her. The Langen Duchess was a gentler kind of pretty, Drew decided. She didn't dress bold, but with her ginger hair, and delicate freckles, one was drawn to her regardless, even if she wasn't the first person one looked at in a room, like Drew.

"Well, for what it's worth, I think you're very pretty," Cecily complimented, her voice barely a whisper.

Drew slipped an intricately laurel design gold ring over her finger, freezing at Cecily's kindness. It was just so… foreign. Her heart squeezed inside her chest. She felt _compelled_ to protect this girl from harm's way, to keep her from all these rude people. Drew was good with weapons. She would fight for it if she had to, and she wasn't sure why she felt as strongly about it as she did, but she did. She still remembered wiping out Annabeth in that training arena, only for both Calbourne brothers to fuss over her. Percy had always been too compassionate. She was pretty and deadly: an unstoppable combo, and she took pride in it. Her knives at her hips only made her more attractive and sleek, however terrifying.

Lady Tanaka stood to her full height, scouring her vanity for the necklace she'd just put down. Her neck felt naked when everything else was accessorized so well.

"Do you want to borrow some of my gold jewelry?" She dug her fingernails into the flesh of her palm; she had never _shared_ or done anything like this before. But Drew found that Cecily had drawn her in with her shy personality and small frame. "I have this gorgeous rose gold hummingbird piece that curls around the cartilage of your ears."

Cecily offered a small smile. "That's very kind of you, thank you."

Something in Drew's stomach knotted. She was _so_ out of her element.

* * *

**Percy**

"Let the trial commence." The Queen didn't look at him, instead watching her higher rank Amazons rule in. Among the advisors and unfamiliar faces were Reyna and Thalia, a General and a Lieutenant, as it should've been. Annabeth was standing somewhere among them and he found himself looking for her familiar face despite himself.

Percy was shackled in thick golden chains to opposite walls, forced to kneel before the throne. He held his head up, the rebellious side inside of him acting up.

He was expecting a dose of pain today, ever the pessimist, or as he liked to refer to himself, a realist. The most painful thing so far had been solitude, nothing more, nothing less, but there had to be more. The Amazons weren't feared for no damn reason. He had a feeling they could get rather creative if they wanted.

All of his gruesome imaginings were cut short because all of a sudden he saw _her_ and Percy kind of wanted to sink to his knees and cry because seriously, she was quite a sight for sore eyes. She looked at him, holding his eye contact for a couple moments. In all honesty it was the most reassuring thing he'd encountered in a while and if they were going to kill him right now, he would be okay with it.

"I propose an interrogation first, Queen Artemis," Thalia voiced loudly. "He's an ex-Prince who's sat in on too many council meetings to _not_ have information on what the royals are planning."

The spectators looked at him like he was a cockroach invading their space, small and disgusting on their ground. There had to be hundreds of people in this damn room, most angrily dressed in flashy gold and staring him down, some multicolored, some men, most women. It was intimidating, but he wouldn't let them push him to fear that easily. He schooled his expression, trying extra hard because he'd _never_ been as good at hiding his feelings as Luke or Medusa.

Annabeth looked pale. He wished she'd quit biting her lip and looking all nervous; he was _fine._

"I support that approach," Artemis agreed, her tone cool. He stiffened, setting his jaw. He wouldn't crack under their pressure.

"I second that request," said a fully-armed girl who he earlier learned went by the name of Gwen.

Artemis peered at him and he felt weak under her icy gaze. Her eyes reminded him all too much of a brother who didn't exist anymore. A stab of pain pierced his heart and he found himself catching his breath.

"All those in favor, say aye," the Artemis declared. A chorus of approval echoed in the cold room, like knives in his gut. He didn't look at Annabeth, not wanting to know what she'd said, and instead hold the Queen's testy eye contact.

"Gwen," Artemis instructed.

"With pleasure." Gwen drew her longsword, approaching him slowly, like a predator approached a prey.

Percy steeled himself for their questions. He _knew_ rationally that if he showed cooperation, he had a better chance of survival, and making Annabeth's ridiculous case to save him easier, but on the other hand, he found he really didn't care if he lived or died too much, and he would _never_ sell his soul to _these_ people. As much as Annabeth adored the Amazons, he couldn't find that same love inside of him. For all the people his men had killed, the Amazons had killed too, only Annabeth was too blind to see it.

"Your brother, that foolish Boy King, he's allied himself with the royals," Thalia said, stepping forward and taking her place next to Gwen. "The Calbournes, the Pevanshires, the Rayas, and the Ashingtons." Annabeth looked down in the background. "As you know, they're working together to defeat _our_ army, allied with the Canadians."

Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It didn't hardly matter _what_ he said; they would find a reason to maim him anyways. It was payback for his own cruelty. Fair enough.

"Everyone knows, however, that Medusa's a snake," Thalia hissed. "She controls his every move despite the crown on his head and she's vicious. Recently, that bitch wiped out part of our underground arsenal collection. We're not stupid; I'm sure Luke did some digging and found out this information, conveying it to her, just like she asked him to, but what other information does she have on us?"

Percy stared at her blankly. He did, in fact, know that Luke had stolen information from the Amazons, but only because he'd overheard his brother relaying information to his military as a newfound guard while he, himself, had been locked up in a prison adjacent to Annabeth's hell. Once Luke had become King, he'd been thrown away like trash, so all the events following his father's death were unclear to him. Did Thalia _honestly_ think he knew _anything_ of us regarding those incidents?

The ex-Prince sighed in resignation to his fate. Thalia _knew_ : he could see it on her fucking face that she knew he didn't know the answer. She had posed the question with the sole purpose of finding a reason to beat him. This was her revenge and so he remained silent. He would not allow her the pleasure of watching him stammer over his words.

The first blow hit him like a fucking train.

He tasted blood on his lips and was mildly aware of a couple scattered cheers throughout the crowd. Percy spit, the red liquid splattering across the marble.

"How about now?" Thalia asked, feigning sweetness. Gwen slowly drew the blade down his temple, along his hairline, and down the side of his face. Percy screwed his eyes shut.

There was something so terrible about acknowledging the pain. To him, it was akin to admitting defeat and he was never one to portray himself so weak, not without the intention to fool his adversary and only _then_ defeat them.

So he sunk his teeth into his own tongue, biting down his howls forcefully by distracting himself with self-inflicted pain. Should so much as a pitiful groan fall from his lips, he would castrate himself before his opponent dared to take the chance.

In many ways, he resembled the feisty blonde. Both held their heads high with pride, whether there was a crown upon it or a blade pressed against their necks. And Annabeth, she always fought hard to have the last word, her pride above her own safety. In fact, he reckoned Miss Chase would outlive God trying to have the last word.

Gwen struck him in the abdomen and he keeled over, blood trickling down the side of his mouth and out of his nose.

Thalia pushed his forehead back with her pointer finger, kicking him hard with the sharp metal toes of her boots. Percy's grip on his chains tightened in surprise as he crumpled at her feet.

"Let's try an easier question," she suggested with a lilt in her voice. "Why are you here?"

This one Percy could answer, but something in him refused to answer, no matter the punishment he'd get. He just _couldn't_ bear to give her anything, any semblance of victory. His vision was blurry with reaction tears from his nose getting bludgeoned.

"It's an easy question, Thalia coaxed, cooing mockingly. She sneered down at him. "Did you _really_ think you'd get solace here?"

Percy was frankly fed up with her attitude. "I don't want your fucking solace," he spat, his chest heaving. He glared at her, fire in his veins, and ice in his heart.

"He talks!" Thalia laughed gleefully. "Well, that's good. Because I'm not offering it." She smiled wryly. "So what brings you to an Amazonian base? Perhaps it's your blonde toy?" She winked at Annabeth, who, Percy could see it on her face, was practically steaming with anger.

"I'm not his fucking toy, Thals," Annabeth reminded her stiffly.

"My bad." She didn't sound sorry. " _He's_ the toy. You played him so good in that ballroom." She grinned. "Remember that, _your Highness?"_ Thalia jeered. "You should've seen your own face. Annabeth was all like _yeah… I'm an Amazon_ and you were like _oh shit, how can I marry an Amazon? My psychopathic brother would never approve. Too bad daddy's dead and can't come to the wedding."_

Percy's jaw tensed.

"Does that hit a little too close to home, little Prince?" Thalia teased, slamming the butt of her spear into his chest. Percy gasped for breath, momentarily winded. "Look, Annie! You still take his breath away!" Thalia laughed at her own joke.

"I told you not to call me that," Annabeth bit back, cross with her.

"Artemis," Thalia addressed the Queen, herself. "It looks like he's not going to talk, and though I've certainly had my fun—" Artemis remained stony-faced "—it doesn't look like he'll be talking anytime soon."

Artemis raised her chin off her fist. "Not at all?"

"No, ma'am," Reyna cut in. "It looks like we're just wasting our time."

"Is he not useful, then?" Artemis inquired, looking to her advisors. Reyna slowly shook her head.

"If he's not going to talk, he's virtually useless," Thalia affirmed.

"So kill me," Percy suggested.

Thalia whipped around to glare at him. "The time for talking is over, seeing as we've closed the interrogation. If you talk again, I'll make _sure_ you can't talk anymore," she threatened.

Percy summoned his courage, offering a dark smile. He nodded his head forward, gesturing for her to continue. "Of course, _lieutenant._ My apologies. What was your plan, then?" he queried, smug.

"I—" Thalia sputtered. "To kill him, my Queen," she told Artemis, pissed at him. Even with a busted lip, Percy managed a small smile of satisfaction. His beating could not take away the smartass in him.

"Fair enough." Artemis rose from her seat, and though she was petite, Percy felt that he should have very good reason to fear her. "Any objections?"

The room was dead silent. If Annabeth could just stay quiet for _once_ , he could die and she'd get what she wanted, and it was _perfect_ —

"Yes."

The entire courtroom swiveled to stare at her, the blonde ex-Princess who all of a sudden looked so small. If Percy could have smacked her, he would've. She had this whole heroine-complex thing going for her and honestly if she could quit trying to save him that would be simply _fantastic._

"You object?" Artemis raised an eyebrow and Percy wanted to slam his head into a wall. Repeatedly.

"I do." Annabeth swallowed hard. She was quick-witted, but she was way out of her comfort zone here, in front of these people whose favor she'd tried so hard to earn. Percy dully contemplated killing himself first.

"He cannot seriously be expected to talk right now," Annabeth began, shakily. Percy wanted to hide _for_ her. "Not with Thalia asking unreasonable questions—"

"—excuse me?" Thalia interrupted, only to be swiftly ignored by the ex-Princess.

"—and with Gwen smashing him to bits on command."

"That's what an interrogation _is_ ," some girl among the crowd explained patiently.

"No, it's not," Annabeth contradicted, and the room fell silent, a few sucking in sharp breaths. Reyna looked at the floor out of the corner of his eye. Smart girl. "Interrogations shouldn't be based out of revenge." She looked at Thalia slowly, pacing around the room with leisure, taking control of the room. "You cannot expect answers to questions that the opponent will _clearly_ not know, hit them, and then expect them to crush their pride only to be hit again. It is rare, I have found, for someone to be utterly and completely prideless. In that case, you might as well just pin him to a tree and have a go at him to release your anger."

Percy glanced between the Queen and Annabeth. Artemis had eyes only for her.

Annabeth pointed to him, pursing her lips, and looking up at the Queen, schooling her expression carefully. "He will not talk like this. No royal would, not even me. We are taught pride and honor above all else. It is the very _first_ lesson drilled into our minds. We uphold our family name and our rank because without it, we are _nothing._ "

Percy felt an irrational stab of pride at her lecture. Only she could command a room like that, only she could make her case against hundreds of opinions and win.

"If you're not stupid—"

People began to murmur under their breath, but Percy was completely calm. Annabeth always had a plan; that was what it meant to be an Ashington.

"—you'll spare him. Thalia is correct by saying that he has sat in endless council meetings. He's a fucking General of his own right, for god's sake. He has enough mental strength to sit here and let you whale at him until he dies, and you will get nowhere by using this approach." She looked around the room, avoiding his gaze.

"However, if we stop this nonsense with chains and prisons and just let him be, maybe he'll choose our cause on his own. Did you ever even consider that? Did you consider that maybe he could've fled anywhere else from his kingdom, that perhaps he has other distant family that would shelter him, but he chose _this_ base of all the places because he supports our cause to a certain extent? That perhaps, like me, he has his own reservations with the monarchy and would like to see some change of his own?"

Thalia's mouth parted in surprise.

"No, of course you didn't consider that. We admonish the reigning monarchs for their narrow minds, but then we turn around and do the same to our enemies. We are hypocrites. And if you don't agree with me, you are delusional and ignorant," Annabeth concluded. Her hand obediently dropped to her side.

Artemis' eyes glittered dangerously.

"That's quite the talk from a royal!" someone commented in the crowd. Percy scanned the people, but couldn't find the face who'd said it.

"Exactly! If he flees, he has all our info!" another protested.

"What are we supposed to do? Wait for him to kill us?" a woman with hazelnut hair piped up.

"We already trusted the stupid Boy King, and look what he did to us!" The Canadian man with mocha skin glared.

The room exploded in commotion at the mention of Luke and the Queen watched, silent and curious. Annabeth looked so small, and so out of her element. Percy remained stony and silent. There was nothing she could do and he wished she would realize that before it was too late and she paid his price.

"I agree with her!" The room fell dead silent, so much so that one could hear a pin drop.

On the left of General Reyna, a girl stepped out into the spotlight. She had curly red hair, like _fire_ , and emerald eyes. Her fair skin was scarcely covered with freckles, and her clothes were splattered with dried paint of various hues. She wasn't dressed in gold, so Percy could only assume that she was most likely a Canadian.

"Rachel," Artemis acknowledged, dipping her head in respect. "You're on the Canadian council. A penny for your thoughts?"

Oh, right. The Canadians were a democracy, complete with a council and everything. Rachel piqued Percy's interest.

The redhead approached Annabeth's side cautiously. "I agree with Annabeth," she began. "The ex-Prince knew he would be put on trial and quite possibly murdered in cold blood just by showing his face here. The Calbournes have won enough wars that I trust he has reason behind this."

Despite Rachel being a mere stranger, Percy felt a surge of pride in his chest. _He_ had been the General in many of the later battles.

"Do not be so foolish as to throw away such a valuable weapon all for a little fear," Rachel proclaimed, boldly.

"I second that." Another boy stood up, taking a place next to Rachel. He had black hair and fair skin, and though he didn't look _entirely_ foreign, Percy suspected that he was partially Asian of some sort.

"Frank," Rachel acknowledged, beaming at him. He offered a polite smile in return.

"He's only agreeing because he's a frontrunner of a peace activist group," Gwen pointed out.

"But he still has status," Reyna reminded Gwen, placing her hand on Gwen's shoulder. Reyna had a certain grace to her that Percy admired. It reminded him of his soldiers back in Thasite, something he dearly missed. Gwen obediently, though reluctantly, dropped the subject, stepping back into the line of people.

"I agree with Annabeth and Rachel as well." A cocoa-skinned girl took her place by Frank's side. She had wild, cinnamon brown, curly hair, and startling gold eyes. She put her small hand on Frank's forearm in assurance, in a way that made Percy feel like they were together. At least _someone_ was happy.

"Officer Levesque," Rachel thanked her for her support.

Officer? Percy did a double-take. It wasn't that he _doubted_ Ms. Levesque in any way, but she was so petite with such a slight frame that he felt that even the wind could knock her over if the current was too strong. Before he could give Ms. Levesque's military status too much thought, Artemis interrupted.

"I suppose it's settled then. Annabeth has made a strong argument to spare the boy, supported by two council members and a former military officer. I am in agreement with Ms. Chase's claim, but I'd like to hear from you." The Queen gazed over the crowd, settling on the Canadians in a line next to her. "Councilmembers? All those in favor of Perseus Jackson Calbourne's liberation, please say aye." A chorus of acceptance echoed around the room, including Rachel and Frank's votes.

"General Ramírez-Arellano?" Artemis inquired.

Reyna steeled her expression, glancing over him once. Percy stayed quiet, showing respect from one General to another. "I am in agreement with you," she revealed. "And Lieutenant Thalia, no matter how reluctant, will grow to understand as well," said Reyna. Thalia scowled, but dared not question the General.

"Very well," Artemis decided. "Unlock the boy." She squinted at him and all of a sudden, Percy felt small. The Queen cocked an eyebrow at him, hinting at the unspoken part of the agreement as well. The ex-Prince barely registered Amazonian guards fiddling with his metal, freeing him of his restrains and letting the chains fall to the floor. He slumped onto his knees, uncomfortable under Artemis' cool stare.

With just one look, the Queen could convey so much. Percy chewed on the inside of his cheek.

_Once you're no longer useful, you're dead._

* * *

**Malcolm**

"Lord Ashington!"

The Crown Prince spun around in haste at the panicked voice. "Sir?" His eyebrows pinched together at his royal guard. The anxiety on the young man's face was clear as day.

"The Lady and Lord demand your presence at once," said the guard, breathless. He gasped like a fish, his face pale with a few drops of perspiration dampening his hairline. "It's an emergency," he hissed, eyes wide like saucers.

Malcolm stood up, following his guard, the both of them running down the corridor.

"Mom?" the blond King-to-be breathed, crashing through the throne room doors. They had returned to Epresh only recently after Bianca's funeral. The Calbournes had momentarily returned to Thasite as well, as had the Pevanshires and the Rayas to their respective homes. This war against the Canadian-Amazon alliance was eating them all alive and though the four houses were working together to preserve their heritage, they were killing at the same rate that their enemies killed them.

Athena's head snapped up to look at her son, but the name still felt unfamiliar in his mouth. He hadn't referred to her as anything as a Queen since around the age of six.

"Sir!" Malcolm was flanked by four or five guards as he looked up at his father expectantly. King Frederick was pale, barking out orders to other guards of higher statuses. People were hurrying in and out of the throne room like they were revolving doors. Malcolm felt sick all of a sudden.

"What's happening?" he demanded, Athena shoving marked-up maps to Frederick. He could only assume that her infamous strategist self had drawn up more plans, but why was everyone panicking? The war against the Canadian-Amazon team had plateaued. It wasn't time to panic, at least, not as far as he knew.

"The Boy King," Athena hissed, drumming her fingers on her throne armchair.

Malcolm paled. "Luke?"

"And his snake mother," Athena confirmed. "They've declared war."

Malcolm's stomach dropped. "On whom? On us?"

"Medusa _surely_ dictated for him to do it. She's _always_ in his brain, feeding lies, manipulating him to do her bidding for her." The Queen of Epresh slammed her hand against the silver table between them. A goblet on the edge wobbled, falling off the edge and shattering to the ground. Maids rushed to her side, cleaning up quickly and quietly, but his mother didn't take her steely gaze off him.

The Crown Prince's face scrunched up in anger. He had always known not to trust Luke or the Calbournes, but this was betrayal at its peak. First Perseus' demise, and now this.

"What have the other houses said?" he asked, keeping his head screwed on right. The Ashingtons were too calm and intelligent to cause a ruckus even as chaos skyrocketed around them.

"The Rayas are in on it. They are also waging war against us," Frederick announced before Athena could say anymore, holding up a piece of parchment that must have just arrived. Malcolm gritted his teeth together; those _bastards._ Luke had shown his true colors a while back, in the blond's opinion, but with his mother, leading them to victory, it made the situation so much more dangerous. Medusa was, quite frankly, one of the most dangerous women of all time, besides, perhaps, Aphrodite, though that was all merely speculation. Malcolm didn't truly know the extent of Aphrodite's devious side.

"Have you evacuated North Epresh yet?" Malcolm countered, making it sound more like an order rather than a question. "The Northern border is far too dangerous right now."

"We're on it right now, Sir." A guard on his right ran out of the throne room, followed by another two.

"We're losing resources too quickly," Athena snarled, frustrated. "We've invested so much energy into the twisted Amazons and those bastard Canadians."

"That's their damn plan!" Malcolm cursed. He rarely swore, the calmer of both siblings, but he was unbelievably furious. "Sir." He turned to his father. "Have you alerted the Pevanshires yet?"

"King Hades is on his way," Frederick assured him, leaving the throne room with an array of guards after one handed him some more pieces of parchment. Malcolm could only assume they were more updates on this surprise attack.

"The Pevanshires will ally with us nicely, balancing out this shortage of arsenal," Malcolm said, assuring himself more than anyone else.

"It's an excellent strategy," Athena agreed. "Except there's one loophole."

Malcolm frowned. "Your Highness?"

"The Amazons and Canadians are still fighting this war against _all_ of us. With a divided team, we fall short once more. Together, they deplete our resources, as we additionally deplete our own."

"They're worthy adversaries," Malcolm permitted, scowling out the window at the clouded sky. He would have to run out there soon, give orders to troops, but first and foremost was family. And Athena, as good as she was, was looking for the same reassurance he, too, sought. "But even with our former opponents, it _can_ be done."

It was only now that Malcolm realized how skinny his mother had become through the years, her roots stained with the occasional grey hair. He swallowed hard. She was a battered heroine, and she seemed so frail.

"Mother," he began, and the acknowledgement of her maternal side felt so natural then. Athena accepted various envelopes on a silver tray from an approaching maid, but she didn't look away from her son. Surely, those pieces of parchment only contained more bad news, but Malcolm had this fire inside of him, all of a sudden. This piece of Annabeth that he'd always wished to possess, this determination that everything would work out perfectly fine, and that they _would_ win.

"We're Ashingtons, mother. Brain over brawn; it's just what we do."

* * *

**Unnamed**

"It failed again, sir."

"Again?" He pursed his lips in displeasure even though he full well knew that the man on the other end of the line could not see him. "What trial is this?"

"Trial number 96, sir."

"I see." He was silent, and he could practically see the other man sweating profusely. His silence was threatening enough and he _reveled_ in the way they scurried around like mice, fearing him and all he was capable of.

"I'll order for more tests to be run?" the man suggested, albeit warily.

He hesitated, just to keep him on edge. "Sure," he finally agreed in return. "Anything else?"

"There's been a whisper of monsters in town," the man stated.

Suddenly on edge, he shot up in his seat, looking out his window. "Excuse me? Which country?"

"Epresh, sir."

He scowled. "Any sightings of the reporters?"

"One of my men said he saw two people entering the woods a couple days ago. A blonde girl and a dark-haired boy. We didn't get a good look at their faces, but they were dressed in the common peasant clothes; they're probably nobody," the man reasoned, trying to keep his boss cool.

He stewed quietly. A blonde girl and a black-haired boy? It couldn't possibly be a coincidence; it _had_ to be that Princess he'd heard so much about and the Prince, the traitorous murderer of his very own blood. He hadn't had anything against them, not before this, but if they were peeking in corners they shouldn't have been… let's just say that his enemy list had recently been cleared and had new openings.

"Do you have the slightest idea where they went otherwise?"

"No, sir," he replied, honestly. "My men simply said they looked like they were in a hurry."

He peered the clear glass down below at the hasty townspeople. "I see."

"And there was one more report. Two girls in the center town of Epresh have been spreading the word of monsters they saw. They must've wandered a bit too much."

His expression darkened. "They're _telling_ people?" It seemed like for once, these regular peasants were more troublesome than the royal pair. Of course he would eliminate them too, but they would have to wait for him to _take care_ of this situation.

"Yes, sir. It's most unsettling."

"I'm sure." He paused, walking into his closet and surveying his row of dark capes. "Meet me in the town at 10, alone. I'll bring my own guards. We have to nip this in the bud while we still can."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't be late," he admonished.

"Yes, sir."

He hung up, toying with a black cape before finally pulling it off the shelf. "Oliver!" He waited, slipping it around his neck and buttoning it up with a satisfying snap.

A meek lad came in with mousy brown hair and thin-framed spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. calling for Oliver to prepare his horse.

"Sir," he greeted. He bowed low to the ground, awkwardly pushing up his glasses with his shoulder. "May I assist you with your wardrobe?" he offered in a small voice.

"No, thank you, Oliver. Fetch me my longsword, however. It should be back in my room." He indifferently looked away, searching for his taller, sturdier black boots.

"Yes, sir." Oliver dipped his head, nervously watching him search for his shoes. "They're on the left, sir," he added, before slipping out of the room.

He buttoned up his long coat when Oliver reentered, a sheathed sword held tightly in his two hands. Standing up, he allowed Oliver to finish buttoning his heavy jacket up and unsheathed the sword cleanly.

"Is my horse ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good, Oliver. Expect me in around an hour and tell my mother not to wait up."

"Yes, sir."

"Are my bodyguards' horses prepared as well?"

"Yes, sir. Philip took care of it all and mounted the saddles for all three steeds, sir."

"Excellent. Escort me down, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." Oliver walked next to him, jogging lightly to keep up with his long strides. He was a little awkward, he'd decided a while back. Oliver didn't quite understand how to let royals decide the pace, but he was hardly fourteen yet and he could excuse it; he was a hard worker and he'd learn as he got a bit older.

He mounted his chocolate horse, easing her into a slow trot as he left the stables.

"One more thing, Oliver." He rounded back, towering over his lackey boy.

"Sir?"

"Tell Claudia to draw a tub of soaking water. Make sure it's warm and strong by the time I'm back," he ordered.

"Oh, I can have it soaking by the time you get back, sir. What clothing item would you like me to take care of for you?" Oliver tilted his head at him.

He shook his head. "I'll need it when I get back, Oliver."

Oliver swallowed, seemingly starting to understand. "Any particular strength you'd like?" He shrunk back.

"Something that can lift blood."

Oliver's dark brown eyes widened a little. "I'll get on that right away. Have a safe journey, sir."

He turned his horse back towards the castle gates, riding off into the pitch black of night, his bodyguards somewhere close behind him.

…

"You." He pointed a skinny white finger at the blonde girl. What a shame that she seemed almost sweet. "I've heard you and your little friend have been seeing monsters." His lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Yes, sir! Have you seen them too?" she asked, earnestly. Her friend's large green eyes were laced with fear, and she was quieter, too. Smart girl.

"They don't exist," he said dryly.

She parted her lips in surprise. "They do, sir! I've seen them with my very own eyes! I was sort of hoping that you'd try to get rid of them, that you already knew," she explained.

He looked at his right hand man, who had just as instructed, arrived alone. Good man. They looked at each other and a plan hatched in his mind almost immediately. Walking deliberately slowly towards the blonde young maiden, his eyes darkening in thinly veiled anger. He carelessly looked between her and her friend.

"You are going to listen to me very carefully," he instructed.

The brunette swallowed harshly and her blonde friend reached for her, looking for comfort. Good that they were scared. He had done his job well, then. The brunette nodded slowly, terrified down to her bone.

"You're going to go back to town and tell them that the White Hospital will be reopening." He was dimly aware of his right hand man silently pulling an arrow out his quiver. Both girls' gazes were trained on him instead of his henchman, just as he wanted.

"The White Hospital?" The blonde's eyes got real wide. "So people _were_ thrown in there for telling the truth!" she cried, horrified. "I'm just telling the truth, don't put me in there, no, please," she pleaded, fat tears welling in the corners of her eyes. The brunette paled, standing there in quiet panic.

"You are telling _lies_ ," he hissed through clenched teeth. "The monsters aren't real and you should not know about them. You should absolutely _not_ go poking your nose in business that does not concern you."

"I didn't mean to!" she gasped. "I won't say any more, I promise, sir. Please, sir, have mercy," she begged. Her friend's knuckles turned white as she pulled away from her friend in stiff fear. The blonde, on the other hand, was practically paralyzed. "I don't want to go there!" She was sobbing now, big, ugly heaves.

"Don't worry, you won't," he promised. Mercy didn't exist. In what world did this delusional girl live in? The corners of his mouth tugged up in dark amusement and his irises sparkled.

"Oh, thank you, sir!" She sunk to her knees, her eyes rimmed red. The brunette didn't seem nearly as grateful because she was smarter, he suspected, she understood that this was nothing to celebrate.

He didn't reply. He turned to his own man, dressed head to toe in the black of night to blend in. In his hands was a nifty crossbow, fully loaded with an arrow by now, the perfect cherry on top of a sundae of control and power and fear— the _best_ kind.

"Julius," he snapped, his predatory gaze still trained carefully on the town girls.

"Sir?" His gloved hand traced the precise steel of the weapon with admiration.

"How many does it take to carry a message?" He grinned nastily.

Julius smiled wickedly in return. "Only one." And he raised his bow, letting the arrow fly.


	16. The Taste of His Cherry Chapstick

**Annabeth**

Surprisingly, there'd been no mishaps during the trip. They'd taken a Canadian jet to right outside of Epresh, and then traveled on foot into her old country in order to avoid attention.

Of course, that just made the blonde more paranoid. If nothing had gone wrong so far, then something was bound to happen soon. She could quite honestly say she wasn't looking forward to it.

Despite the unspoken anxiety lingering in the air, the jet-ride had been rather entertaining. Piper, Annabeth had found out, wasn't so bad.

The brunette was a quiet sort of funny, occasionally interjecting sassy humor. She was sweet, offering to talk with Annabeth after noticing the blonde's heightened anxiety, and though Annabeth had turned her down, it was nice of her to notice. She was sharp with emotions and social cues, almost like she had a sixth sense with people and matters of the head and heart.

Rachel was _loud_. She was outgoing, extroverted, and bubbly. She told bad puns, sharpened her knives casually, sketched pictures of the jet, and even managed to convince Piper to pose for a bit because Rayas were _beautiful._

Hazel was the softest-spoken of them all, but she was _badass,_ Annabeth discovered. The gold-eyed girl retold military stories, and gushed about Frank Zhang, her activist boyfriend. Rachel had only bolstered her claims that Frank was one of the most innocent, kind-hearted people to ever exist. Needless to say, Annabeth was intrigued by his existence, eager to meet him if she made it out alive of this mission. Hazel had this whole old soul thing going for her. She was probably the most terrified of going up in the jet, or what she referred to as a 'death rocket.' It was entertaining, in a pathetic sort of way. Kind of like Annabeth's whole life.

But the Princess couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to go south quickly, which meant this called for a plan. Fortunately, the blonde was _very_ familiar with those. Commanding the team with her quick-wit and strategic mind, Annabeth drew plenty of maps and designs for her fellow warriors. And then, it was into battle. No going back, no hesitating, no messing this up.

…

The plan was simple to achieve a simple objective. Grab Annabeth's large stash of gold in her old room to use for furthering the Amazon/Canada purpose. Scoop up her box of maps with Queen Athena's notes in the margins from the trunk she'd hid in cellar years ago. Lastly, and probably the most difficult to pull off, rearrange the pins on the strategy board near Malcolm's chambers to throw the Ashingtons off their scent.

Not only was it going to be difficult because of sheer proximity to where her brother stayed, but it was an internal battle for Annabeth. It was the most direct sabotage, and even though she knew it was necessary (the Ashingtons were the smartest; they would surely be the closest to destroying their bases), it was a question of morals and loyalty.

There were four of them, and three tasks. It was only logical to split up. And Annabeth knew that in every horror film, splitting up ended in casualties, but she _knew_ it was the only way to get in and out efficiently.

Piper had been sent to raid her room for valuable items. The Raya Princess was an expert in all things fashion and value, and selling. If anyone could sniff out worth out of the most ordinary of items, it was none other than her. Annabeth might have passed off her off a gold digger before, but after all their talking, she had formed a new respect for the youngest sister of her bloodline. Even though she'd never admit it unless there was a gun held to her head, Annabeth could reluctantly acknowledge that out of all the girls, she felt the closest to Piper. There was just this mutual _understanding_ that Annabeth hadn't even known she'd been longing for.

Hazel was given clear instructions on how to search for Annabeth's war strategy chest. She had been sent down into the cellar, scouring the dark prison for a cleverly-concealed and booby-trapped trunk. With her military experience, she was handy with detonating bombs and had an eye for night-vision and spotting danger before it was obvious.

That left Rachel and Annabeth, herself, to complete the hardest task of them all. Only Annabeth would know how to move the pins around in a manner that was just subtle enough nobody questioned it, but enough to foil her family's chance of overthrowing her rebellion. She was a master of how their minds worked. After all, she _was_ one of them. With her precise knowledge and Rachel's hawk eyes, they could pull it off together.

But she couldn't get ahead of herself; she couldn't cocky. Arrogance was only a long way down and hubris was her fatal flaw.

Piper set her face in a grim expression, brushing her fingers across the blonde's forearm in reassurance before sweeping past her in a flurry of sweet-scented roses.

…

Annabeth squinted from her position, frowning at the red dot down the corridor. At the door, her partner in crime stood guard, her jaw set and her bright green eyes narr _owed._

' _Up,'_ the blonde mouthed, flicking her wrist to swiftly slide her hood over her head. Unlike Piper and Hazel, she was not graced with dark hair— an easily concealable feature. She supposed she shouldn't have felt so bitter about it; Rachel had it distinctly worse, what with a figurative flame for hair.

Annabeth hugged the side of her wall, the baby hairs on the back of her neck standing up, and chills running across her body, dancing on the surface of her skin like little spiders. She shivered. She resisted the urge to look back at Rachel once more— her loyal sidekick was not going anywhere. She could not allow her paranoia to eat away at her sensibility because this entire mission was counting on _her._ If she failed… no. That could mean the beheadment of her comrades, or even worse. She would not make the mistake of underestimating her family's creativity. Those big brains were useful for more than mathematical mysteries and sophisticated strategies.

Her heart pounded in her chest, like a dull metronome.

With lightning quick fingers, Annabeth switched a few pins, moving three silver pins a few millimeters to the left, and the one in the middle, the one closest to one of the Amazon bases, half an inch up. Behind her, she heard shuffling. The blonde spun around, letting out a loose breath to realize it was only Rachel.

"Piper just came back," Rachel informed her.

"She's done already?" Annabeth cocked an eyebrow. Piper may have been good, but there was no way she was thorough if she was already finished.

"Of course not," the redhead whispered, her eyes darting around the room, back and forth between the Ashington staple and the large, mahogany doors. "Hazel needs help. She surveyed the grounds; there's too many guards. If we want to keep everyone quiet, she's going to need someone to watch her back."

Annabeth chewed her bottom lip, trying to make a difficult decision. She knew her escape routes well enough, she knew where to hide should someone seek her out.

"Go help her," Annabeth hissed back.

"Are you sure?" Rachel's eyes went wide as saucers.

"Yes. Hurry," she urged. "I'll be fine."

"Watch your back, Chase." She looked both ways before darting out of the war room soundlessly, like a mouse. Annabeth was startled by the use of her middle name. Only Percy ever referred to her as that.

Annabeth didn't bother with theatrical goodbye bids, and mouthing sentimentality of good-lucks, though Rachel wouldn't hear it, like the main protagonists of all her books. She turned back to the large map spread across the table in front of her, moving pawns over a bit to the left and up enough that it threw her off, but not so much that she'd be able to tell with one glance.

She slid past the table, stalking the other maps with curiosity. Athena had certainly been busy. The woman was right on her heel. Her anxiety levels skyrocketed as she reached for a map behind the table, carefully framed. Behind it were the keys to the other locked up materials under the table's secret compartment. She was tall, but she'd never been quite able to—

"Don't move."

Annabeth's breath hitched, her pulse racing like a matador. It was her worst fears coming true.

The unmistakable, faint scratch of metal on metal behind her sent goosebumps down her arms. Move and be pierced by a blade of her own blood, wonderful. Dimly, she wondered if death was better than being interrogated for her secrets, but _no,_ those three other girls, they fucking _needed_ her. She refused to abandon them, especially when they probably were still under the radar, yet to be discovered. If only she hadn't been caught, perhaps this would've gone faster.

The blonde swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Turn around, slowly. Hands in the air," the intruder demanded.

"I can't do that," she said, her voice purposefully distorted and gruff. Of course, it was no use. He would know her anywhere, from the sound of a voice she'd faked, to the shape of her fingernails, to her silhouette, to her scent, no matter how carefully disguised.

"Are you fucking serious?"

There was so much hurt in his voice, a notion of madness, and suffering, that something in her shattered because _of course_ she'd been feeling the same. _Of course_ a half of her was always missing, so far away from home. Home was where the heart was, and though hers was admittedly small, he was all she'd ever had.

She turned around in defeat, throwing her hood back seeing as it was now entirely useless. Dumb cover getting stupidly blown.

"It's been a while, big brother."

* * *

**Percy**

"For a girl who claims to hate me so much, you sure do approach me a lot."

Thalia glared him down, but Percy remained stoic, and very much unfazed, much to the Amazonian's frustration.

"You're insufferable," she spat.

"I think I like Jason better. Very polite," Percy commented, nodding to himself. Perhaps he was enjoying this too much. Unfortunately, nobody was here to chastise him.

"Perseus, stop trying to rile up my Lieutenant." Reyna let out a heavy sigh, picking at her food, and showing no interest in Thalia and Percy's daily bickering. "Your quarrels are giving _everyone_ a headache."

"It's hardly my fault she's unpleasant," the dark-haired boy argued, and Reyna paid him no attention.

"That's rich coming from you." Thalia began sharpening her blade again. Weirdly, with Reyna here, he didn't feel very threatened. Reyna seemed much too diplomatic and level-headed to allow breakfast stabbing. Thalia, on the other hand, had no manners, _clearly._

"I can't believe you let him sit with us," she muttered under her breath, and Reyna gave her a long look, one Percy fucking _reveled_ in. Getting Thalia in trouble was _so_ much fun, though if a gun was held to his head, he'd _have_ to admit pissing her off was even better.

"Everyone's wary of him, Thalia, you already know this. To promote a more peaceful environment, I thought he'd be better suited here. Obviously, I now see my error." Reyna pinched the bridge of her nose and Percy felt a pang of sympathy for her. The girl was obviously under a lot of stress, and his and Thalia's childishness probably wasn't making it any easier. Too bad he was bored of hiding out in his cramped bedroom and avoiding these people. It was hardly his fault people were terrified of him. He hadn't even _done_ anything. Yet.

Thalia shot him a dirty look, and Percy smirked in return, because he was, like, _so_ mature. "Stop acting all high and mighty now that your little blonde babe isn't here to boss you around."

Percy's smirk dropped. "That's not true. Plus, I would _never_ call her that. That's disgusting." He sniffed, indignant.

"Oh please, everyone knows you're her little toy. Her personal servant. And you live to please." Thalia sneered.

"Says the girl trailing after Reyna all day like a fucking dog."

"Two wrongs don't make a right," Thalia fired back.

Percy casually plucked at his food, examining it closely. "Perhaps that should be the Amazon motto."

Thalia slammed her weapon on the table, standing up. "Oh, that's _it,_ you little-"

"Thalia!" Reyna stood up, and the entire table fell silent. "I've had it with both of you. You're acting like children and I am _far_ from a babysitter. You're both old enough to settle this a better way. Take this drama to the arena. I don't want to hear from either of you two unless someone's dead." The General sternly pointed to the building across the field, in front of the bend in the stream.

Almost simultaneously, Percy and Thalia turned to look at each other. Turns out that royals weren't the only ones who went to the training arena to settle arguments. He still remembered taking on two, three opponents at a time, the instructor, Zeus, only finding it harder and harder to make it challenging for him. But he also remembered Drew viciously turning Annabeth to ribbons with no remorse. Thalia may have had all the street cred she wanted, and she might've been quick like a thief, and slick like a criminal, but Percy not only explored the downtrodden alleys of Thasite growing up, but he'd trained for his position, and _hard._ All that blood, sweat, and tears? It was all his, and he was proud of his scars.

"Are you sure?" he challenged, looking down at the smaller girl. Thalia was short, indeed. Percy's theory was that she was closer to Satan, so that's why she was so angry all the time. Thalia hadn't found it funny, obviously.

She drew her blade out long and grinned wickedly.

"Are _you?"_

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Why would you ever come back?" _And why would you ever leave?_ The implied question hung in the air like a dark cloud hovering above her head. " How _dare_ you come back?" Malcolm's voice was steady. He had never been one to tremble, not even in the tensest of situations. He would've made a good surgeon.

Quick as a rabbit, Annabeth twirled her trusty dagger between her fingers, effortlessly sliding the grip out of the folds of her armor and into the comfortable touch of her fingers.

"I missed you, too." She smiled, but it didn't meet her eyes. It _physically_ hurt her.

"Don't bother playing mind games with me, Annabeth. You know I always win."

Her fake smile dropped immediately.

It was true: for all she tried, and though Malcolm was and would always be the more genuine of the siblings, he was also a better liar, something that had never helped when they were younger.

Not to mention, Athena was rather partial to her son in the first place. Needless to say, Malcolm had won a lot of childish battles as they grew up with nothing more than his quick tongue and sharp mind. Oh, and Annabeth had suffered the repercussions, naturally.

Annabeth's blood ran cold at the sight of his knife, one she had trained alongside for so long. She'd never imagined she would one day be at the opposite end.

It had always been a possibility. All was fair in war, but for it to come true? It was too much for her. And for him, too. She could see it in the miniscule shift of his features, in the way the worry lines around his eyes had deepened, in the way his back was held up all rigid, in the way his knuckles had turned white on the hilt of his dagger, and in the way his thumb traced circles around the blade, a nervous tick of his he'd never quite grown out of. She was sure he, too, was reading her like a book.

"You know, on some level, I always knew it would come down to this," said Malcolm, mournfully. "I was hoping it wouldn't be so soon."

"Hope is for suckers," she breathed, circling around him like a prey and a predator, only— this time, she suspected _she_ was the prey. Malcolm would easily be able to beat her now, not like when they were younger and engaging in a much more fair fight. He was more collected, but he also followed her in suit, circling in a weird dance between life and death. She'd always been good at cheating death, but she was positive she was pressing her luck at this point.

"I agree." He licked his lips, thoughtful. "I can't believe you picked a Calbourne over us."

Annabeth winced, only to flare up with anger. "Percy and I just tried to escape the clutches of a Boy King, nothing more, nothing less."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "So you guys are on a first-name basis now? That's new."

She scowled.

"And besides, I wasn't talking about Perseus." Malcolm's eyes glittered.

Annabeth flinched, the image of the Boy King, her first love, or so she'd thought, spinning in her mind. Her stomach churned. A piece of her would always be with him, and him with her. In all honesty, she would've preferred the dagger to the heart; at least the death would've been short and quick.

"That's a low blow and you know it." She glared.

"Only because it's true," her brother reasoned. "And to think, you have the brain and blood of Athena, herself. I would've thought you would know how to use it better than this. I'm assuming you're not here alone? Perhaps… three other girls? Or boys, I suppose, seeing as you now frolic with the Canadians as well. Four has always been the most supreme questing group number."

Annabeth's face felt hot, giving him the answer he already knew.

"So predictable. You'd already drowned our family's name, dug up the grave, and then buried it too, and now this? I feel the secondhand embarrassment," Malcolm taunted. It stung more than she would've liked to admit, but coming from him, it was worse than any gun.

Perhaps because she'd always viewed him as an eternal force, a protective brother, she'd never truly appreciated how _dangerous_ Malcolm was. As terrifying as Percy could get, she was beginning to rethink her opinion that Percy was the scariest of them all. To stand in front of someone, on a side she never thought she'd be, and to see a knife precisely spun in a way she'd only ever seen him before going in for the kill, it was infinitely more horrifying to imagine the blade of her blood sinking into her heart. And yet, it was also comforting to know that her last breath could be by the one she'd first been held by, with the exception of her mother, of course.

As if he could read her mind, he shook his head at her. "You were so small in my small arms," he whispered. "Athena says you were instantly my favorite thing ever. I followed you everywhere, determinedly had the staff baby-proof the castle, kept you out of the gardens and weapon rooms, gave you Luxembourg's chocolate, your weakness, when you hit your head on the armrest of father's throne and cried."

Malcolm's face softened fractionally. "Remember when I blamed the pile of dishes that crashed down, shattering into millions of pieces on you?" He grinned. Unfortunately, his reminder of good times was contagious.

A reluctant smile flitted at the corners of the blonde's lips. "I was so mad."

"You were," he agreed. "But then you learned you had to be quicker than that to talk your way out of something. And the next time, you got _so_ much closer to out-talking me. Close, but no cigar." Malcolm laughed, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. It was as bright as the dagger in his hand. Annabeth's heart throbbed.

"I saw you redecorated the training arena. The weapon's rack is looking a little bare," Annabeth mentioned. She'd passed it earlier.

"I did," Malcolm agreed. "Not a fan?"

"I always liked that place stocked." She shrugged.

"Too bad it's my castle." He shrugged in return, and she _had_ to roll her eyes.

" _Your_ castle?"

Malcolm offered a dark grin, and Annabeth involuntarily took a step back. " _My_ castle," he reaffirmed. "I'm the future King, and so it's _my_ castle, _my_ land, _my_ people that you _abandoned._ "

Annabeth scoffed. "As if we'll let you be future King. Your point is moot. It won't be your castle when we take over. Actually, it was _never_ your castle. It's still mine, too." A piece of her was breaking away, the magnetic pieces inside her given to Malcolm drawing her close to him.

"It's not," he spat with defiance. "It hasn't been yours since the day you walked out on us, on _me._ It hasn't been yours since the day you turned your backstabbing self on everything we once stood for and spilled your spineless guts to the Amazons."

Annabeth's mouth parted in surprise. Her chest was concaving. " _Spineless?"_

"Blood before all," Malcolm recited a common royal moral. Annabeth clenched her fists, balling them up by her sides.

"You sound like mother." This time she was treated with the satisfaction of Malcolm flinching, though it certainly didn't make her feel any better than before.

"You sound like every other extremist," Malcolm shot back, gritting his teeth. It was a weak defense to her stabbing words, but he had taken enough shots at her that it was warranted, and he knew it as well as she did.

"Extremist or passionate advocate?" she countered, baring her teeth like a lioness. She cut her knife through the air, beginning their battle. Malcolm sidestepped, all too familiar with her style of fighting.

"Extremist," he confirmed. "You _were_ a passionate advocate, but then you sold your soul to the devil."

"I disagree."

"I can't force you to be correct." He smirked and Annabeth was reminded all too well of their verbal jousts growing up. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

"You act so high and mighty." She fumed, channeling it into anger instead.

"Like you're any better. At least I _know_ royals are murderers. You can't admit a single bad thing about the Amazons. You're _blind._ And even worse—" in under a second, Malcolm was right in front of her "—you're a _pawn._ " She should've stabbed him. He was standing right there, but with his familiar features, his straight nose, thick eyebrows, and usually kind eyes, she was frozen in fear and reminiscence of a brother she still loved.

"I'm not!" she choked. Anything but a pawn. She was a leader of a rebellion, a path-forger, a revolutionary icon and yet… her faith in herself wavered. Malcolm had more on pull on her than she remembered.

"Keep your _fucking_ voice down. Do you _want_ to be caught?" he growled.

"I thought I was already!" she whisper-yelled, rocking on her tip-toes to meet his height.

Malcolm rolled his eyes sarcastically.. "I haven't killed you yet, have I? Keep your screeching down, little sister," he demanded, and she did. "And you are." He chuckled, but it was devoid of humor, so unlike him. She just wanted her brother back, but it was too late now. He was a shell of a man and she was something otherworldly, so lost from who she'd once been. With her old life, she'd thrown away her family as well. She had never felt more small, towered over by the man who had practically raised her.

"You are a pawn no matter what anyone says. You are disposable to them, you were special here, you were prominent here. _There,_ you are used for your strategies by the vicious Queen— if only you were strong enough to admit the evils the Amazonian Queen has committed— and then you will be tossed away. They would never, _ever_ accept a royal the same way they accept their own people. No one would. No one would choose others over their own people! It is why Luke made you blind! You showed you exactly what you wanted, he recognized that you are a _fool_ , and naive in nature, and then you bought his ridiculous claims, believing that a royal of all people would turn his back of high status on a family of great fortune for _you_ and your stupid, _stupid_ half-baked plans. And you got played!"

Tears pricked at her eyes, but there was no stopping Malcolm now; he was on a roll.

Malcolm was breathing hard, his eyes rimmed red. It seemed he wasn't the only one unaffected by the tension and emotions swirling like hurricanes in this goddamned room.

"No one would turn their back on blood in this cruel and undeserving world. No one except _you_ ," he gasped, and only then did she realize a tear had slipped down her cheek, albeit quietly. Malcolm did not cry. He had lost the ability to cry for her, or so she'd assumed, stayed strong so she could afford weakness. It was pitiful.

He paused, staring her down before continuing.

"Look, I'm sorry you're not a boy."

It hit her like a train and she staggered back, stepping away from him, surprised and wounded. Did he want a brother instead? Would he have really preferred the life of an only child over a childhood with her? Was she really that awful?

"I'm sorry you want change to come quicker, and I know it takes a while with our type of blood, but it would've happened nonetheless, even if not in your lifetime. Now you just fool around and you've thrown away the best platform you ever had, carelessly. And I'm so angry at you. And I'm entitled to my anger, mind you."

Annabeth glared. "Don't talk to me like I'm a kid," she spat.

"Then don't act like one," he shot back.

Malcolm knew just how to twist the knife. "That anger in your heart warms you now but it will leave you cold in your grave." Nobody could hurt you more than someone you loved, and for a girl who loved few, it was all the more painful.

Fury burned in her core, only proving him right. In a split-second decision, she held the dagger to his throat and for once, Malcolm stopped. With a flick of his wrist, his dagger fell to the ground.

"Go ahead," he rasped. "Kill me. If it's you or me," he paused, "then let it be me. Let me do this for you," he whispered. Her hand trembled, hovering over the smooth flesh of his neck, unmarred and innocent.

"Why would you _ever_ let me do that?" she angrily demanded. "Why, when I've been so awful to you and your family," he was right that it was no longer hers, "why would you still offer your own self for _my_ crimes? Why are you so… so _good_ all the time?" She was beyond frustrated by her brother's faultnesses.

Malcolm dropped to his knees. A royal would never fall to their knees; they would die standing. He had given himself over to her completely. "Because I failed you. Because if I had done well, we wouldn't be here in the first place. And a world in which you and I are divided, a world in which I am responsible for the loss of your presence is a world I don't want to live in," he answered, candidly. He looked up at her with glossy grey eyes.

Annabeth furiously wiped tears away from her eyes. "You didn't _fail_ me. I failed _you._ You gave me everything, you threw away so much for me. And I repaid you by leaving. I'm… I'm sorry, Malcolm."

"That means nothing to me," he murmured.

Annabeth's face screwed up. "Then what must I say?"

"You can't say anything," he concluded. "This isn't the sister I grew up with, this isn't the girl I taught to do archery, this isn't the sibling I brought to the stables to brush _ponies_ of all things in the middle of the night, this isn't kid I bought a drawing pad for, or architectural model materials for. She's gone and replaced by this… version of you I don't recognize. The Annabeth I know would have never turned her back on family like this, she was much too loyal, she wouldn't be as reckless, nor as childish. To die by your hand would mean nothing to me, as does this conversation." He was lying, and not well for once. His leaking tears revealed his overpowering emotions.

" _Malcolm,"_ she sighed in resignation, her shoulders slumping forward defeatedly. "Please."

"To look in the eyes of someone who was and will always be your entire world, only to be told you're not enough…" he whispered. " _I_ am sorry."

She fell to her knees so she could be leveled with him. Her dagger fell to the ground next to them. She could not bear to do it. He, in turn, was _her_ entire world.

"You are more than enough, you are more than I ever deserved." Her voice cracked, but he didn't say anything. "Please, Malcolm, _please_ don't do this to me. I know I deserve it. I know I deserve worse, but I can't do this without you. Come with me," she pleaded, a plea she'd never been able to make the first time, one she had been only too late for. "It can be like old times. I can do stupid shit and you can roll your eyes, make smartass commentary, and then save me like you always do. Malcolm."

He shook his head, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. "I will not betray mother and father like you did. I cannot. My nation is my second priority, and it is too important."

She didn't bother to ask what was first; she knew she was.

"I will not leave Nico behind, or Bianca for that matter."

"Bianca's dead," she whispered. She knew Malcolm had initially forgotten she was gone far too many times, but she had hoped he'd grown out of it and learned to cope.

"I know," he murmured, and he slumped against her, his forehead on her shoulder like they were children once more. "I'm not crazy, I promise."

"I know." She was afraid to touch him, to anger him, to feel things as strongly as she did now.

"You killed her. I know that now too." He whispered.

"Do you hate me?" She cringed, knowing full well she already hated herself more than anyone else ever could.

"I could never hate you." He laughed, but it sounded more like a half cry. "Perhaps _you're_ my weakness, my fatal flaw."

Her heart squeezed painfully.

"Bianca's gone, but I will not leave her grave cold. I will not leave her brother guide-less to become cold like her."

"She's a ghost, Malcolm. You can come with me. Bianca will not think less of you for leaving her, Nico will not think you a weaker person, mother and father will be disappointed, but they will not see you less of a man because they know our friendship has always run bone-deep." Even 'friendship' did not come _close_ to expressing their soulful bond.

"Being with you is the same as being with a ghost," he admitted, and Annabeth felt as though she'd been slapped, though he was right, as always, as Malcolm always was. "I don't know you anymore." Malcolm cupped her face, searching her expression and eyes for _something._ He deflated slowly, tugging on loose strands of her curly blonde locks as he had always done ever since they were young. Though back then, that had resulted in arguing and sometimes even Annabeth slapping his hand away in frustration at being treated like a child, though she had fully been one, and so had he.

"You can get to know me," Annabeth amended, hopeful.

Malcolm looked at her for a moment, as if considering, but they both knew his mind was already made up. "You should get out of here before someone finds your friends and hurts you," he cautioned. He swept her hair away from her face like he was going to shower her with affection as he usually did, but this time he hesitated.

Annabeth swallowed her pride, not knowing when she'd see him again. "I…"

"It's okay, Annabeth. I know," he whispered, squeezing her hand tightly. He went to stand up, but she stopped him, her throat closing.

" _No_. It's not. I— I _love_ you," she fiercely proclaimed, her voice breaking again, stray tears decorating the fine lines of her lashes. Her shoulders felt lighter as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her. How long had it been since they'd actually said that out loud? Years, most likely? It was a souring thought.

Malcolm crushed her with a bear hug and for a moment, Annabeth feared he would crack her ribs with his vice grip, but she shoved the thought aside. To have her ribs cracked by him, that would be okay too. They would serve as a reminder of her first best friend, even before Jason, a built-in best friend she'd had since July 12th, since the day she was born.

He roughly shoved her away, standing to his feet. Annabeth scrambled to his side.

"You suck at subtle," he told her, pointing to the map she'd tried to change. Annabeth cringed. He now knew they had been very close to discovering the Amazon base. No doubt Malcolm already knew their location. The blonde mildly wondered if they'd still storm the Amazon base or if Malcolm would purposefully deflect Epresh's strategies away from her new home. She didn't bother asking, afraid of the answer, afraid that it wouldn't be the answer she so desperately longed for.

"And hurry up," he added, striding to the heavy doors, cracking one open, and peeked out cautiously. Annabeth anxiously flitted behind him.

"Where are we going?"

…

"You're taller than me," Annabeth protested, when he waited impatiently for her to catch up. " _And_ ," she added, before he could interject, "you're not wearing an uncomfortable corset. I bet you'd be slower if you had something squeezing your insides out. My insides are crying."

"I'm going to make your inner pain outer if you don't shut up," Malcolm muttered under his breath, and Annabeth cracked the faintest of smiles.

"Who did you kill? You can't be serious." She peered up at the ebony doors.

"I usually am," Malcolm pointed out, ignoring the first question, cracking the door open, and letting her slip inside first before following dutifully.

To his credit, he seemed disgusted enough, for which Annabeth was grateful. She, on the more extreme end, was horrified. She covered her mouth and resisted the urge to gag, sliding her fingers over her nose to mask the unmistakable stench of blood.

"Why would you _keep_ it like this?" she asked, aghast, though she already knew the answer.

"Blood is the perfect traceable clue," Malcolm replied, his voice monotone. "We've tracked some of the owners down."

"And?" She looked up at him, suspicious.

"An assortment of our royal guards."

"No Amazons?"

"None at all." Malcolm walked around the table, surveying the immense pile.

"Canadians? The Pevanshires?" she pressed further. Surely he wouldn't _only_ hassle the Ashingtons, not with the power he had.

"Just us. And they're all signed for you, _little Annie._ "

Annabeth approached the table cautiously. Stacked high was a mountain of letters, some small, some on expensive pieces of parchment, some etched on a napkin, some photographs Malcolm had printed out, seeing as the message had been carved into a corpse's skin, but they were all dipped in blood, red from all different heads, and they all ended the same way:

_Sleep safe,_

_L._

"Of course he would call me that. Medusa was always fond of the nickname." She threw down the paper in distaste.

"Are you not more concerned with the fact that he is _killing_ people to leave a note on their _corpse,_ dipped in their fucking _blood_ for you?" Malcolm glowered.

Annabeth gawked at him. "Of course I am! But why you? Why your guards of all guards? Why _not_ the Amazons, and the Canadians, and the Pevanshires? Epresh isn't the only one he's at war with. Luke's practically fighting against his own house as well. You think all of the Calbournes support his position as King when Percy was the intended ruler? With Medusa, that crazy bitch controlling Luke's every move, _making_ him rule _for_ her?"

"I imagine it's because he's after you," he said, solemn.

"But why would he send it here? He knows I'm not here anymore. Me?"

"Perhaps it's a subtle warning to us Ashingtons in general; he intends to destroy us in this war. But I am most certain he is after you. And Perseus." Malcolm nodded slowly. "Do you know if he's been in touch with the eldest Calbourne?"

Annabeth sat down, feeling empty. "No, I haven't talked to him in two days."

Malcolm didn't ask, still recognizing that they were, on paper at least, enemies. "I see. He _will_ come after you, Annabeth. Luke will do whatever he can to kill Perseus."

"And me?" It was no secret Perseus was as good as dead in Luke's hands. Luke would publically humiliate him, tarnish a reputation he'd already destroyed with Medusa, and then hang him, she was sure. He was always one for theatrics.

"I don't know about you. I have a feeling he'd rather keep you around just to torture you, but he wouldn't kill you. He'll give you worse than death." Malcolm's voice was a hushed warning.

Annabeth's heart pounded in her chest. "Why are you showing me all this?"

"It's addressed to you." He shrugged.

Her mouth felt dry. "That's not it; I _know_ you."

Malcolm tilted his head to one side, and though they looked nothing alike, she saw Percy in him all at once. "Because I don't want you to do anything stupid."

"I thought you already said I was stupid, and a child. Several times." She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

"No, Annabeth. You know what I'm referring to."

There was a lump in her throat all of a sudden. "I can't promise you anything."

"You can't fix everything, Annabeth. You mustn't forget that," Malcolm cautioned.

"I know." She licked her lips, hesitating. "But I can try."

Malcolm sighed in resignation. "Don't say I didn't tell you." He glanced at all the paper. "We're keeping these, by the way. They were still sent here, and they're still our property to use against the Boy King."

"I expect nothing less." She stood to her feet. "I suppose I should be on my way."

"Of course. Collecting your friends before someone finds them has always seemed like a good idea," he agreed. Malcolm looked awkwardly at the door. "It's not like I can walk you out." He offered a half-smile, one she returned easily.

"I understand. Good luck with the wars, big brother. You'll win, I'm sure of it." Annabeth walked to the door, her footsteps light like a rabbit. But right before she could sneak out, Malcolm gripped her arm, digging his fingers into her smooth skin. She looked up at him surprised, and was further shocked to see the fierce determination on his face.

"When you kill her, stab her _well_." His teeth were bared like a lion and Annabeth seized up in terror at his violent shift in nature.

Malcolm's words chilled her to the bone, and wrenching her arm out of his grip, she looked back at him one last time, his soft features, his melancholy face, but his steel eyes, and soaked it all in, remembering him one last time. If he was right, she may not live to see him again, nor him, her.

Annabeth blended in with the shadows, her cape obscuring her face once more and covering the curly staple. And as she went in search of Piper and Hazel for their escape to Thasite, she mulled over her brother and his final bidding to her.

Only Malcolm would know she was on her way to assassinate the Queen, all without her opening her mouth. At least when it came to her, that boy had _always_ been psychic.

The blonde grinned to herself, descending faster down the dark spiral staircase.

* * *

**Nico**

"I wish I could do that."

Nico spun around the face the familiar blond, one he'd reluctantly grown fond of, though he'd never admit that out. Or the fact that it might've been more than simply 'fond.'

"Fight?" Nico raised an eyebrow, his chest heaving from exhaustion. Training was a nice place to release pent up energy and anger.

"I'm just a healer." Will shrugged, staring at his hands in disgust. Nico's heart dropped in his chest, against his own will.

"Healers are important, too. We'd die out there if it wasn't for you guys. And besides, every royal I know is convinced castle healers are magic."

Will shrugged again. "Maybe."

Nico was disappointed, too, disappointed that Will wasn't proud of himself for being incredible, disappointed that he wasn't good enough with emotions to console the wonder boy.

"Can I give it a go?" Will pointed to the row of sharp swords.

Nico glanced at Will, surprised. He hadn't had a training partner in a long time, finding himself to be more of the lone wolf type, but Will was always an exception to everything. He gestured towards the swords.

Will laughed. "I don't know which one to pick, you know."

"Oh."

"I've never done this before."

"Oh."

"Nico?"

Nico's eyes snapped to Will's face, his cheeks turning a bit pink at being caught daydreaming. It's just… the light coming through the window made Will's hair look white, and his eyes were _even_ bluer, which Nico didn't think was possible, and it's just…

"Right." The Prince examined Will's height, taller than himself for sure, and sized up a sword that would most likely fit him. "Hold this."

Will's hand wrapped around the hilt, only for him to promptly drop it.

"Not that one, then." He re-racked it, hiding a small smile of amusement. "Try this one." He held out a standard sword with a green grip around the hilt, making it hopefully more comfortable. Will managed to hold that one out this time, indicating that it probably felt more balanced in the older boy's hands.

Will swished it through the air in excitement.

The pale boy ducked, his reflexes quick, in surprise. He caught the sword with one hand, and glared at Will, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He could never really be mad at the healer.

"Okay, rule number one: no random swinging and trying to decapitate people. They're weapons, not toys."

"Right, sorry," Will apologized, sheepishly.

"And rule number two: you have to do as I say, because if you break something, my mother will kill me, and as much as I joke about death, suffocating in Persephone's perfume is not how I plan to go," he deadpanned. "Got it?"

Will cracked a smile. "Whatever you say, Nico," he spread his arms dramatically.

"You're ridiculous," Nico commented, shifting the dummies in front of Will, in a wide open space.

"Thanks." Will winked, and Nico _had_ to look the other way for a solid five seconds. Damn healer.

…

"No, no, no, stop, oh my god." Nico pinched the bridge of his nose as an arrow shot gracefully in an arc… three feet away from the target. "You're going to kill someone, and it's not going to be the enemy."

Will rolled his eyes. "Way to be supportive."

"Maybe you're just not cut out for this," Nico suggested. "In all fairness, I'm pretty sure patients would die from the sight of my face before I could even _begin_ to treat them."

Will laughed at that. "Well, I for one, think your face is very nice."

His cheeks turned pink, but he refused to acknowledge it, blaming it on the heat and the sticky sweat of training hard. Hopefully Will would think it was from that too. He approached the taller boy, awkwardly circling around him and fixing his position. He gently nudged Will's elbow higher, and straightened his left arm. Every time his skin made contact with Will's, Nico felt like he was on fire.

Nico put his face near Will's, trying his damnedest not to flush bright red, and tilted Will's upper body upward a little, so it would aim at the target better. "Okay, now pull back. All the way to your cheek, remember," he reminded the healer, and took a step back.

Will drew the compound bow back, and Nico adjusted his elbow one last time. The Prince of Pevanshire's eyes wandered to the little bit of skin that peeked out at the hem of Will's shirt when he drew the string back. Will let the string slip through his fingers, and the arrow spiraled toward the dummy, striking it in the very center of its heart with the precision of a machine.

"Oh. My. God." Will cheered, jumping up and down a little in a way that both made him seem his age, only 16, and made Nico fall for him a little bit more than he already had.

"How are you so good at this?" Will laughed, putting down the bow. He'd seemingly given up, which Nico was a-okay with. Without Will behind a weapon, the world was just a little bit safer. The blond shoved his scarred hands in his pockets, slumping on a chair nearby.

Nico shrugged, embarrassed at the praise. "I could ask you the same for healing."

Will smiled, though it was shy. "Passion. I'm sure it's the same for you. I've seen you in here for hours upon hours each day."

"You watch me train?"

"Sometimes," Will admitted, his ears turning pink. Nico was glad he wasn't the only one affected by the tension in the room.

"That's so stalkery, Solace."

Will grinned. "I saw you pass the infirmary three times yesterday. Don't act all high and mighty now, di Angelo."

Nico covered his face and groaned.

…

"Why did I think this was a good idea again? I suck."

Nico held both his own sword and Will's, the one he'd confiscated in under two seconds of the battle, against Will's throat. The healer had complained that Nico was going too easy on him, which he had been for obvious reasons, and had practically begged Nico not to let him win. So here they were, Will on the floor in under thirty seconds and Nico the sole victory, as always.

Nico shrugged. "I warned you." He dropped the weapons to the side, allowing the tiniest of smiles. Will's face visibly brightened at Nico's content expression.

"As always, I'm on top." The Prince smirked.

…

"Why the fuck are you so heavy?" Nico complained. Will was on top of him, fiddling with the buttons on Nico's shirt. Will pulled away from peppering kisses down the side of Nico's neck, and squinted at the Prince

He feigned offense, though the smile on his face gave him away. "I'm perfectly normal weight, thank you. Just because you're too light for your age doesn't mean that I'm heavy." He flashed his pearly whites and next thing he knew, he'd tugged off his own shirt in one smooth motion.

Nico sucked in a sharp breath at Will's golden skin, shiny like the sun. Nico traced the swirly, white faint lines, reminiscents of scars across Will's chest. Then all of a sudden, his lips were against his own, and they were kissing again. Nico's hands found their way to the front of Will's shirt, pulling him forward and off balance and closer to him. Will was doing this little thing where he was gasping between kisses and it was driving Nico _crazy._ Wills' warm palm snuck around to the small of Nico's back, and Nico gritted his teeth. Will's touch was almost painful from how much Nico craved it.

If this was a sin, then Nico would call himself a sinner in a heartbeat, because when Will traced the hard planes of his chest like he did now, and stirred the dark hair on his head with small puffs of air, and cupped his chin in his warm hands— it must've been a healer thing, and tasted of mint, and lemon, and sunlight, Nico felt more full than he'd felt in fucking _years._

It didn't feel as dirty as his mother made it out to be, or as the royals frowned upon. It didn't feel like his chest was concaving like it did when he used to think about Perseus with this longing that was never fulfilled, because now his head was filled with clouds of Will Solace everywhere he went. He would _never_ feel this way with any of the stupid girls Persephone found for him, he was certain now. And it wasn't because they were terrible girls, he was sure they were lovely, but that wasn't him. _This_ was him. And as far as Nico was concerned, who he loved and who he slept with was none of their business.

It would come later, he knew, the guilt, and the hurt, and the stab of pain every time he fucking _saw_ Will Solace, because he wasn't allowed this bliss forever, not even now, not even this one time, but for now he soaked in every bit of sunshine.

It had been so long since he'd seen the light, and Nico found that while asleep in a sixteen-year dark night, he'd entirely forgotten what daylight looked like, and he'd forgotten how beautiful it felt to have the sun on his face again.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"I didn't even know I owned that."

The brunette shrugged, glancing at the emerald and gold necklace she was twirling around her index finger. "You can sell emerald for a lot down south," said Piper.

Annabeth blinked. Piper had done well, better than she could have ever predicted, and she'd neatly put all valuables in a silver box to carry easily.

Rachel had some dark substance streaked across her hairline and Annabeth didn't even have the heart to tell her. The redhead was ecstatic. Apparently she'd knocked out a guard or two while Hazel sniffed out Annabeth's disguised trunk of maps. Hazel had stuffed as many maps into her jacket as possible, and then they'd both run. Annabeth didn't say anything about her brother, choosing to omit that detail entirely when retelling her aspect of the goal.

Hazel was piloting and Rachel was sketching the view out of the window as they made their way to Thasite. Annabeth quietly sat in a cushy seat and watched the news flicker across the screen, feeling like a liar. They'd all gotten in and out cleanly, accomplished their tasks, and not only had she failed, but she'd also not told them that when asked.

She was dimly aware of Piper sliding on the seat next to her.

"Hey," she greeted softly.

Annabeth's eyes stayed glued to the gruesome details of war. "Hi."

"Are you worried?" Piper got right to the point.

Annabeth's forehead creased. _Worried?_ _Am I?_ She'd never been all too in touch with her emotions. A side effect of growing up an Ashington, she supposed.

"Why would I be worried?"

"You tell me." Piper glanced up at the screen. "I thought the first mission went fairly well, and if we can nail this one too, we'll have been very successfully."

"I suppose."

"Why do you feel the first mission didn't go well?" Piper inquired, pressing further. Annabeth felt vulnerable and emotionally naked under Piper's scrutinizing gaze.

She shrugged, unresponsive. "I never said that."

"Yes, but you're _showing_ me you think that," Piper mentioned, though not unkindly. "Hazel and Rachel got the maps, and you even looked through them, they got the perfect ones. I picked out valuables you didn't even know you owned, finding lots of monetary value for the Amazons. And you did well, also. Correct?"

"Sure," the blonde agreed, albeit half-heartedly.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, before the Raya daughter interrupted once more.

"How's your family?"

Annabeth, startled, flinched, looking at Piper with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Your family: your brother, mother, father," Piper clarified. "It mustn't have been easy to return home. I'm not sure I could do the same."

Annabeth's jaw tensed. "It was fine and I'm sure they're fine, also."

"Don't you miss your brother, though?"

"Of course I do. Who doesn't miss their family?" Annabeth proposed.

Piper shrugged, careless. "I don't."

Annabeth's lips parted in surprise.

"Drew never liked me all too much, Silena was never home, my mother's crazy, and my father agrees with all my mother says. I don't belong there; I belong here," she explained.

"Oh. I understand," Annabeth tried. "My parents were never my favorite either, especially my father." Her fingers played with a loose string on the couch's arm.

"But you and Malcolm were really good together, right?"

"Why do you keep asking about him?" Annabeth frowned, suspicious of the Raya once more. It was embedded in her blood.

Piper's expression changed to one of seriousness. "Because I think you ran into him while we were there."

Annabeth shot up, sitting straight. "Why would you say that?" she hissed.

"Am I wrong?"

"How would you know that?" Annabeth asked, unintentionally confirming Piper's claims.

"Oh, Annabeth." Piper's tone changed to one of sympathy. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

"What's there to tell? He spotted me, we argued for a bit, he held a knife to my throat and I did the same to him, and then we went our separate ways." She didn't want to talk about Luke or his letters. That was for her to know, and her only. She didn't want pity, she didn't want any of it. Her blood was boiling.

"It's okay to be upset," Piper consoled her.

Annabeth's throat felt uncomfortably tight. "I'm not upset," she lied through her teeth.

"I would be too," Piper promised. "I know you guys are close."

"Were," Annabeth corrected, and Piper didn't say anything, just looked at her solemnly. "And none of this matters. What matters is that I failed the fucking mission, Piper." Her eyes burned, the feeling of disappointment and self-hatred overwhelming her. "He saw me move the pieces, and so I failed. More so, he probably knows _exactly_ where we are located now, all because of my carelessness."

"You had no backup," Piper soothed, and Annabeth imagined this must've been what it was like to have a sister. It was nice, in some ways, but Piper could never replace Malcolm, just like Percy could never replace Luke. It was a disturbing thought, one that made her feel queasy, but Annabeth tried to keep herself out of shock at the realization.

"I know. But…" Annabeth trailed off. "What are we going to do now?"

Piper thought for a moment. "He let you go, hon. He still sees you as a sister, and you see him as a brother. That will probably never change; you both are joined at the hip at this point in your lives. I highly doubt he'll use any of your strategies against you, and I sincerely doubt that Malcolm will ever lead anyone to hurt you. You're safe."

Annabeth felt sick to her stomach. "Piper, those maps Hazel scooped up could bring down the entire Ashington palace, the entire country of Epresh. He would never hurt me, sure, but I'm hurting him by taking these with me." She couldn't breathe.

"Deep breaths, Annabeth." Piper's cool voice enveloped her surroundings and the blonde felt her hands squeezed in Piper's reassuring grip.

She sucked in air desperately, following Piper's example. "I can't kill him." Her eyes were rimmed red. "If we were on a battlefield and it was him or me, I'd kill myself," she choked out. Piper's face was blurring in her vision.

" _Breathe_ ," Piper demanded, and Annabeth shuddered out a long exhale. "Good. Again." She inhaled through her nose and exhaled once more. "Listen to me." Piper shook her hands in hers. "We're going to fix this."

"How?" Annabeth's bottom lip trembled.

Quietly, and making sure nobody was looking, Piper led her to the back of the plane where all of the items they'd looted from Ashington Castle was stored. In a misshapen cardboard box were the maps. Annabeth watched as Piper swept a matchbook off a nearby counter and struck a match with ease. Her caramel hands carefully cupped the flame to keep it burning.

' _Watch this_ ,' she mouthed to Annabeth, holding the maps in her left hand. With her right hand, she lifted the match to the maps.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Panic seized Annabeth, anxiety eating at her soul. Hazel and Rachel would think they were traitors.

Piper stepped around the corner, keeping it out of Annabeth's reach.

"No, wait— don't!" Annabeth whisper-yelled, but it was too late. The maps went up in flames, and together they watched her painstaking drawings disappear just like that. When it was done and gone, the plans against her old kingdom burnt to ash, Annabeth stared in horror at the remnant dust of what was once their greatest advantage.

"What have you done?" Annabeth made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. In a moment, Piper was right in front of her, her soft hands wrapped around Annabeth's wrists. The Ashington ex-princess felt uneasy under Piper's unyielding eye contact. "Why?"

"Your family's safe."

"Because," she sputtered in shock. "The Amazons will kill me."

"They didn't know you were going to get maps," Piper dismissed. "Nobody has to know." She shook her head.

"Because Hazel, and Rachel, and Reyna, and Thalia."

"Because your brother's safe."

"Because they'll think we're traitors. Why would you do that for me?"

"Because Malcolm's safe, Annabeth." Piper looked at her carefully.

"Because Queen Artemis."

"Annabeth." Her tone was soft.

She felt like melting from relief. "Because Malcolm, okay? Just… Malcolm."

"Okay," Piper promised, and Annabeth sunk to the ground, mourning the loss of her brother like she never really had before, and understanding that though loyal to the Amazons, she was never truly on anyone's side. It was a conflict of interest and the sooner she was at peace with that decision, the sooner she'd be at peace with herself.

Piper sat with her, quiet, and together they watched the clouds go by.


	17. The Boy King

**Percy**

"Any preferences on where you want to be buried?" Thalia mocked, her grin splitting her face in two.

Percy rolled her eyes. Of course the street rat liked to trash talk. Believing himself to be more of a man than that (even though he was one of the most sarcastic, sassy people in the entire fucking universe), he kept his lips sealed. Well… for about two seconds.

"Creative," he drawled, thoroughly unimpressed.

Her lips twisted into a half-smile. Thalia twirled her spear in her hand. "No shields; barrier battle only."

Percy shrugged. "Fine by me. I don't even need barriers," he added, cockily.

"We'll see." Thalia's blue eyes sparkled in equal parts amusement and a sour attitude. Percy scoured the arena, quick on his feet. Outside of the walls, some people had gathered, presumably eager to watch him lose. He'd prove them wrong, and now that his pride was at stake, he was even more invested in winning. If they wanted a show, he would give them one.

Thalia swung first. And with that, the fight began. She was _fast_ , faster than he'd expected, but at the last second, Percy slid to the side. He missed the large blow, but the tip of her spear managed to graze his forearm. A drop of blood fell to the ground, and the crowd— one that just seemed to grow steadily in size— roared in appreciation. An Amazon girl raised her shield in excitement and a Canadian boy laughed at the red on the ground. Let them see who would laugh at the end.

Percy fought defensively at first, allowing Thalia to work herself tired, to analyze how she fought. Thalia was very slashy, a very traditional Greek fighting technique in comparison to Reyna's stabbing technique, a more Roman approach. That was fine by him; he'd _mastered_ Greek technique, often choosing it over Roman fighting just because it was smarter. Romans were built to fight as a large unit, not solo.

He countered her strikes, still not targeting her just yet. Thalia struck at his bottom half, trying to throw him off balance, but Percy smoothly jumped over the jab, causing someone to angrily scream some nonsense in the crowd.

"Are you done now?" he queried, raising an eyebrow, a lilt in his voice.

Thalia glared. He wasn't even out of breath; perhaps this would be easier than he thought.

"You are? Excellent," he answered his own question, and then _he_ swung. The first blow hit her spear like a bus, a loud clang echoing in the arena. It rattled quietly. Then he slashed once more, and this time he struck gold. Or red.

Thalia gritted her teeth, a large gash tearing open across her stomach. Cutting a forearm meant nothing. An abdomen? The damage was much more powerful. She scraped her spear against him, cutting around his collarbone, and then he sliced her to ribbons, putting in maximum effort. The crowd was riled up, it was time to seal the deal.

He struck quick, nimble on his feet. He cut her stomach once more, making the existing wound deeper, and Thalia cried out in pain. He slashed at her leg, turning her into a limping mess. Then he slammed the flat of his sword into her shoulder, sure to leave a large, painful bruise, and knocking her off her balance. Thalia got in a few good strikes also, slamming the long end of the spear into his chest and effectively winding him. She crunched on his hand with her pointy boots when he reached out to steady himself, crushing the bones in his right hand. Lucky for him, he was close to ambidextrous, if not entirely. He switched his sword hand to his left, but even he had to admit that it had been an extremely tactful play on Thalia's part.

He deflected another blow, swinging when she was recovering, and a sickening crack came from Thalia's body. He winced, feeling her pain. That was probably a rib. There was some blood coming out of the corner of his mouth, and honestly he wasn't sure how much longer he would last with a swollen right hand. He had to end this, and quick.

Thalia went to slam his head into the rock behind him, but he rolled up on the ground, kicking her legs out from under her. The Lieutenant fell to the ground with a thud. Blood was roaring in his ears and the screaming of people was deafening. He clumsily swiped her spear off the ground, standing to his feet, albeit limping and slowly.

He pointed both his sword and her spear towards her chest and her neck, restraining himself from pinning her down at her torso with his boot. He knew he'd already cracked her ribs, no need to cause her more pain. He would not fight a person who was already beat.

"Do you surrender?" He panted, sweat coating his forehead in a thin layer of sheen.

"To you?" Thalia turned her head and spit. It came out red. "I'd rather die."

Percy's shoulders slumped in exhaustion. "Seriously?"

"Would you not do the same?" she inquired. Her gaze hardened.

"Of course I would," said Percy without hesitation. "We are taught pride before all else," he echoed Annabeth's sentiments in that courtroom.

"That's what I thought, little Prince. Now do as I say and finish me."

He paused. "I will not." And however stupid, he sheathed his sword, and threw her spear to the ground. "I will not finish one who is already defeated, no matter how egotistical they may be."

Thalia squinted at him. "Why do you have to be so…" She spread her hands, gesturing vaguely. Her ankle looked strange, sprawled at an odd angle. "...so _Princely_ all the time? You don't have to be honorable. I gave you permission to kill me."

"I'm a man of values," he murmured, still sure of that statement despite all he'd been through. "You're a good fighter and you gave me one hell of a battle, but you deserve your life. You had many opportunities to kill me and yet, you did not. When I was caged up, when I first arrived…" he trailed off. "You're more honorable than I give you credit for," he admitted, reluctantly.

Thalia struggled to sit up, and she gritted her teeth. Those ribs were probably killing her. He didn't help her up, knowing full well that she'd probably bite his hand off.

"I suppose you're not as bad or as useless as I make you out to be," she conceded, though she still looked angry. Percy suspected she just had a resting bitch face, not unlike himself. "Don't get me wrong though, I still don't like you."

He raised his hands in surrender. "I would expect nothing less. So what do you say? Let's go to the infirmary? You beat me up pretty good, too."

Something in Thalia's expression shifted something so miniscule, but Percy caught it, and it was some semblance of understanding and acceptance that his pain momentarily disappeared. She sized him up with her eyes, and her face changed. It became something softer, someone who cared more than she let on. "Okay," she acquiesced, and people were still rioting outside of the arena, and throwing shit, and throwing fits, but Percy didn't really care about that.

"I need help walking. You fucked up my knee." He tried to scowl, but his eyes shimmered with amusement.

"You fucked up my bones," Thalia shot back, snorting. She smiled faintly even though her lip was busted real bad, and Percy found himself smiling in return. Thalia was really very pretty, even though she tried to hide it with dark scowls and rude commentary and bulky armor. She would make a good soldier, and in many ways, she did remind him of his own men. Something inside of Percy softened at the connection, and he extended his hand for her. As expected, she smacked it away and stood on her own, though she stumbled.

"You broke my fucking hand," Percy pointed out, holding up the purple, morphed limb. Thalia laughed.

"You ruined my abs," Thalia teased in return. He liked her when she was like this, and he imagined she felt the same about him. Perhaps she wasn't as bad as he'd thought. "Slicing them up enough that I bled through these clothes."

"You probably bruised my lungs with that whack, goddamn."

"You turned me into a limping pirate dumbass."

"You were a dumbass before me," he teased, though now it was good-natured.

Thalia shoved him, and he winced because she hit his bad shoulder. "Let's just say we're even."

"I totally won," Percy accused, but he grinned.

"Lies." She smirked. "Even or nothing."

"Fine." He shook his head, and his face hurt from smiling. "The healers are going to have a field day with us."

"I like to scare them by waking up in pools of blood occasionally," said Thalia, and he threw back his head and laughed.

"That's fucking hardcore."

"Don't I know it, little Prince."

"I'm taller than you," Percy pointed out.

"No one asked you."

"Maybe you're angry because your anger has to be confined in such a small space," Percy suggested, continuing with his theories.

"I'm going to poison you. You won't know when, but it'll happen," she threatened. He snorted.

"Poison apple this shit?"

"You'll make a pretty little Snow White," she promised. Percy rolled his eyes, smiling to himself.

"As long as _you're_ not the one kissing me awake. I'd rather stay dead, thanks." He wrinkled his nose, and Thalia shoved his face away, though it was much more playful now, and thankfully unlike her usually painful versions of 'playful.'

"How much do you think the healers will scream if I pretend you're dead and then you come back from the dead?" he inquired.

Thalia shared a devious smile with him. That was another thing they shared, their stupid sense of humor. "I've heard one of the healers screams like a banshee."

"Which one?" Percy raised an eyebrow.

"Not sure. Guess we'll just have to try them all. Besides, I've heard resurrection is nice this time of year."

Thalia leaned against his side, and after sharing looks of pure mischief, she 'collapsed' into his arms as he walked into the infirmary, ready to cause pure chaos and raise hell.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"And to think, I _made_ you."

A light flicked on beside the bed and Annabeth froze in horror. She had never liked looking at Medusa. She was a reminder of her son just as much as he was an echo of her. The blonde resisted the urge to shrink under her gaze.

"Excuse me?" Annabeth breathed.

Piper was frozen too, a dagger in her hand pointed towards the Queen. Hazel and Rachel were standing guard outside, keeping watch. They had knocked out the Queen's usual bodyguards, taking their place, now well disguised in Thasite armor.

"I made you," Medusa repeated. "Without my son's arm to lean on, you had no chance."

Annabeth's lips pressed tight together in quiet anger. "I was a Princess of my own right before him."

"Sure," Medusa agreed. She tilted her head to one side, a sharp glint in her eyes. She smiled, her pointy teeth becoming clearer. The Queen was draped in expensive silks, reminding Annabeth of all the wealth she'd left behind. It made her nauseous. "But _I_ covered up your tracks, silly girl. Without me, you're nothing."

It was silent for a moment.

"Luke didn't walk early on when he was a child," Medusa began. Annabeth blinked, dimly aware that Piper was staring at her in confusion and unease.

"He didn't talk much, he didn't crawl as he was supposed to. He was already going to live in the shadows of Perseus, I could not allow him to be inferior."

Something inside of Annabeth twisted, not liking where this was going.

"So I talked to the castle healers, tried to find out how to make him work. No son of mine would be worthless. No one could help me, said he would figure it out eventually." She adjusted the silk around her waist. "So I found my way to the black market, found myself someone who could sell me a potion."

Fuck.

"I put it in his milk so he'd never know. And with it, he was able to do all. I could dig into his mind, and I found that all of a sudden, he could walk and run rather well." She grinned, and Annabeth's heart dropped.

She practically had _mind-control_ over her son. Annabeth had always known healers were practically magical, but this was too much. She'd dug into her son's mind, when he was barely a year or two old, and _forced_ him to walk, to talk, to be excellent. Luke… a twang of unwanted sympathy tugged at her heartstrings. Medusa had indeed twisted him into this monster, just like she'd suspected. He was probably traumatized and…

"And the potion still works," Medusa added.

Annabeth took a step back, Hazel's crossbow heavy in her arms. Suddenly, she understood.

"Who do you think covered up that dagger, the one you'd cut with yourself to free your Amazonian friends that night?"

That night… Annabeth jolted with realization. The night of the bomb, the night Bianca died, the night of the ball, the night she'd betrayed Percy, the night Reyna, Thalia, Hylla, and Zoe had been captured, only for Zoe to die, the night Percy tortured them beyond belief and she began to think she didn't know him anymore. She and Luke had helped them escape, feigning an attack, but foolishly leaving her fingerprints behind.

"You knew," she wheezed. It was a blow to the gut.

" _I_ locked down the cameras, _I_ made that blade disappear, _I_ alone made some of the guards disappear as well. You became afraid, like the little girl you are, you ran to my son, and _I_ saved you. Countless times."

Annabeth felt queasy, like she could throw up at any moment. Medusa paced slowly around the room and the Princess found her crossbow trembling in her hands. How confused poor Piper must've been.

"But why—" as soon as it left her mouth, she understood all it once. "Because you wanted it to happen," she found herself talking. "Because I had to trust Luke. Because I couldn't be caught yet by anyone else. Because later on, _you_ needed me so you could kill Poseidon. Because you needed someone to frame. Because you needed Perseus to trust me so that I could lure him in. Because _you_ told Luke exactly what to say, and what to do, and how to do it! Because _you_ knew how to hurt me and you knew I would do anything for him and it landed me in his cage with the other Calbourne brother!" Annabeth's voice rose with each accusation, all of them sickeningly true.

She thought back to all the times she'd confessed to Luke, all those times they'd spoke of private matters, of Amazon business, of Perseus, of that time he'd kissed her. Medusa knew her better than Luke, even, she knew her better than anyone else in the world. And so she knew exactly how to make her feel like she was dying. She knew how to twist the knife. She knew all of her hopes, dreams, pain, and fears.

She thought back to the bomb a bit more.

"And _you_ made Luke set up the bomb that killed so many at that ball." Medusa's victorious smile looked like the devil. Annabeth's fists curled into a tight ball. She'd cost Nico of his older sister, and so many more of their families. "You told Luke exactly who to pick to shoot for the Amazons." They had had to pick targets, and Luke had picked three so easily.

"Actually, no," Medusa cut in. "He picked those all by himself."

That only made it worse. Annabeth felt like she was burning, her head throbbing painfully. Luke had picked those people, not because they were threats to the Amazons like he'd claimed, but because they were his _own_ enemies, people he'd needed to get rid of.

"Fuck!" she growled with reckless abandon. She dug the heels of her hands into the back of her eyes until she saw black spots dancing in the corners of her vision.

"You ruined him." She pointed the arrow to the Queen. "You turned him into a monster, a twisted, evil creature like you. He's a fucking psychopath now and it's all your fault!" she accused, thinking back to the few moments Luke had bled shreds of kindness and humanity. "And you don't even care that you broke him to pieces!"

Medusa's smile dropped, her face turning colder than usual.

"He hated you and you didn't even see it—"

This time, Medusa cut her off. "No. Unlike you, you naive traitor, our blood sticks with blood."

"You killed Poseidon," Annabeth interrupted.

"He's not our blood," Medusa clarified, and Annabeth felt a coil of dread in the pit of her stomach. "And besides, if you're so sure Luke is only a product of me, kill me and you'll see. You'll see you cannot change him back, you'll see he has bred into a monster of his own, you'll see that not everything is a result of my demands," she challenged.

Annabeth's faith wavered. "I will."

Medusa's lips curled up in a sneer. "Wonderful. Oh, and little Annie?"

The blonde grit her teeth at the wretched nickname.

"Without me to save you, they already know you're here." The Queen spread her arms, shrugging helplessly. As if on cue, alarms blared through the castle, and she could hear the sickening screeching of the gates closing. Piper dropped her dagger in panic. Heavy footsteps and fleets of guards stormed around the castle, the palace erupting in sheer chaos.

In the eye of the hurricane, there was always peace, if only for a moment. Annabeth stilled. Rachel crashed through the door, her eyes widening when she saw that Medusa was painfully awake, and not killed in her sleep like the original plan. A flash of cinnamon curls blurred just out of the door, what Annabeth could only assume was Hazel. She was mildly aware of Piper screaming at her to shoot.

Annabeth stared out the window, then glanced at the Queen. She didn't know what to believe anymore. She had been lying to herself, no doubt, under the false pretense that maybe there was something inside of Luke that had room to grow. It was thought that left her disgusted with herself, one that left her sitting in front of her window back at the base in mismatched socks until Jason found her, or sometimes even Percy.

Her expression hardened. She would murder her, the woman who had ruined her son, and murdered her husband, and traumatized a nation with her all-too-clever ideas. And then she would parade around with her for all to see, to see just how beautiful their Queen really was once she was gone. Let them see her traitorous face, white with death, and empty as she'd left Poseidon.

Vengeance had its scuffed army boots on and it was ready with its machete.

Annabeth gingerly slid the arrow into place, and lifted it up. Medusa arched a thinly plucked eyebrow, and hesitation manifested inside her. Before she could decide to shoot or not, a dagger flew past her ear, buried to the hilt in the Queen's chest. Annabeth's lips parted in surprise. She slowly looked at Piper. Bless that girl, seriously.

"We're running out of time, and I didn't know if you'd do it." Piper's lips were pressed in a grim line.

Rachel screamed, making Annabeth's head pound. Blood roared in her eyes, and blood pooled under the Queen. Piper's bravery inspired a spark inside of the blonde. Plucking another knife out of Piper's hand, Annabeth stabbed the already deceased woman for good measure. It felt like someone had entered her body and was murdering someone with collected calm. Piper pulled her back, her hands ice cold on Annabeth's forearms.

"She's dead, Annabeth, she's dead, I promise."

Dead women told no lies, but only if they were truly dead. Around here, no one was really dead. Sally Jackson was… well, _living proof_ of that.

The dagger clattered to the ground. The sirens wailing around them only seemed to grow louder. Piper was saying something about guards and Hazel, and the familiar redhead that had once been in the doorway had dissipated to god knows where.

"Help me," Annabeth croaked out, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.

The corners of Piper's eyes crinkled. "What?"

"Help me move her."

Piper's eyes widened to saucers. " _Why?"_ She looked terrified. Perhaps she wasn't used to dead people. Having been nearly crushed by a dead Pevanshire, Annabeth was growing disturbingly familiar to blood on her hands.

"She's dead. She won't strangle you," Annabeth snapped. "Now help me, Piper." She was pleading now, not quite sure what she was even asking for anymore.

Swallowing her disgust and irrational fear, Piper opened the door for Annabeth, the sirens nothing more than dull background music to the symphony in Annabeth's heart. The Ashington Princess curled her fingers into Medusa's strawberry blonde hair, not bothering to close the Queen's glassy eyes. Let them see her for what she was: a hideous monster.

And dragging the Queen by her head through the door, a trail of blood following her went as she moved, a crown around her wrist, and a bloodstained crossbow by her side, Annabeth strolled out of the bedroom.

Vengeance had found a way into her heart and she wasn't sure it was leaving anytime soon. She knelt to vengeance, worshipped revenge, praised its beauty, its grace.

They said that a man who desires revenge should dig two graves, but Annabeth had found that as much as a grave kept her locked in, it kept others out.

…

The image flickered over the screen. Of course the Calbournes would broadcast their cameras, trying effortlessly to prove that Amazons were a disgrace, disgusting killers. Little did they know she was counting on it.

Medusa's cold was on display for all to see. Annabeth hoped Luke would like her present.

…

Somewhere along the lines, Annabeth had realized the severity of her actions. And Piper's too, she supposed, seeing as the brunette was actually the one to kill the Queen. But now, outnumbered with her fear returning, much of her courage was disappearing. Plus, the Queen was heavy.

"Annabeth, hurry!" Piper screamed from the doors, as Hazel and Rachel ran out the doors. She was holding one open for the Ashington. A fleet of guards were storming down the hall and if she didn't hurry up, she was as good as dead. Paralyzed, Annabeth forced her feet to move, unsticking herself from this fear, and thudded across the cold marble as she followed Piper's lead. The brunette was right outside the gates, so close, and yet so far.

Some servant screamed in the background at the sight of the Queen. Annabeth wasn't planning of carrying her everywhere, especially since she was trying to escape, but if she could just drag her through the castle to send a message, that would be enough. It was already flashing across the screens of multiple countries; her work was already complete. Mission successful. She wondered if Malcolm thought she'd finally lost it for good.

Annabeth fled out the door, and as she stumbled out of the tall white doors, something inside her prickled with electricity. She turned back, just for a second, and her mouth fell open.

Blue eyes, the hue of ice.

He was furious, she could tell by the way his jaw was tensed, but he seemed emotionless as he always did. His icy blue eyes haunted her nights and her days and everything in between. He didn't say a word, knowing she was just barely out of his reach. This time. But his message was clear: when he finally got his hands on her, he would do worse to her than what she did to Medusa. Shivers ran down her spine and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His gaze dropped to Medusa's, and when his face didn't change, Annabeth's fear shot through the roof.

Luke was _so_ much more dangerous than Medusa, she supposed she'd never given it much thought, but she really did fear her son much more than the Queen. The Queen was smarter, more careful, more manipulative, but Luke was a carbon copy _and_ he had an iron grip on her heart, no matter what she liked to tell herself.

Images of him flashed before her eyes in a millisecond. His lips against hers, inviting and comforting, his promises of not letting her die, him joining the Amazons, the way his features had softened even when betraying her to join his mother at the very last moment. There was no way none of it was real. Medusa had encroached into his mind, had twisted his every move, had turned him into this _monster_ , but there was a part of him who had cared for her, and she had loved him with every fiber of her being, no matter how short the duration of their time together. Medusa played with his mind, and now he played with hers.

Maybe once she had loved him, but now all she felt was hurt, and pity for him. He was alone, like her, and in some ways, she felt he understood her more than anyone else. If Percy's touch was fire, then his would be electricity, ten times stronger, and ten times more painful. Electricity could start a flame.

She locked eyes with him, chills dancing across her arms, and goosebumps popping up. Once again she was escaping his clutches, but to see him before she left, it was a hit to everything she'd ever known. She pinched her features downward, casting a dark shadow across her face.

She lifted Medusa higher, showing off her glory. With ease, the blonde snapped Medusa's crown and let the shattered pieces fall to the expensive blue, long carpet. She pulled the arrow out of Medusa's chest and let the Queen fall too, twirling the arrow in her hand. It would be her souvenir. Luke's eyes burned in a thinly concealed fury only she would see.

The corner of his lips lifted up, and as if in slow motion, she mustered all the strength inside of her. Annabeth turned and left him behind, letting the heavy gates rock the Earth behind her in the wake of her presence, leaving her ghosts behind and her heart, too.

Even once she was far, far away from Thasite, she could still feel his eyes on her, unwavering and piercing.

Even far, far away from Thasite, he owned her every thought, and she could hate it all she wanted, but Luke's grip was one of nature, something she couldn't ever change.

Ever far, far away from Thasite, he choked her, and a delusional side of her wanted to throw her arms around him and give in, but the sane side remembered that for every bit of the boy that she loved inside him, there was that psychopathic side who carved letters in corpses he'd killed, all for an obsession of a Boy King.

She wondered if he thought about her as much as she thought about him.

"Piper!" she gasped, spotting the brunette hidden skillfully in a nearby tree. And then she saw Rachel, perched carefully in the tree as well. Her lungs were on fire, desperately working overtime for oxygen. "The plane! Get the motherfucking plane!"

"Already ahead of you, A." Piper tipped her head, and almost as the perfect time, the plane rose in the sky, driven by none other than Hazel.

She ushered Piper into the plane and Rachel, too, refusing to board until her comrades were safe. She could see men on powerful stallions in the distance. Another few minutes and she would've been as good as dead. But luck was hard to come by, she knew, and she'd take anything she could get.

She slammed the exit closed after leaping on board, and Hazel took them away from enemy fire. Next time she saw _him_ — and she would, she was positive— she would be ready. No more mind games, not from him, not from her. Playing games with Luke never ended well. Luke was a mastermind, and she was a chess piece if he wanted her to be. He'd silently promised her end at his hand, and like he'd said himself before, was he not a man of his word?

Annabeth collapsed on a seat in exhaustion and stared out the window. It would be a relief to return to the base, back to Reyna, and Percy, and the Queen, and Jason, more than anyone else.

Luke was a man of his word, but she'd learned her lesson, and well, when he'd stabbed her in the heart the first time. He may have won a few battles, but she would be damned to let him win the war. She would come back, and she would be stronger than ever. And that time she wouldn't leave until she left behind his corpse—or her own.

* * *

**Drew**

"You look lovely."

Drew turned to see Cecily. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips, despite herself. "Thank you."

"Especially when you threaten his ass."

Drew froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

Cecily burst out laughing, much to her surprise.

"You saw that?" Drew asked carefully, caught off guard. She'd yelled at Octavian, and _well_ , about half an hour ago. He was being an overbearing ass, as usual. Unfortunately for him, she didn't put up with that type of shit for very long.

"Twas a joy to behold," Cecily confirmed, teasing. She pushed her bracelet back on her skinny, pale wrist.

" _Really?"_

"Oh, please. Octavian's a complete idiot. And a douche," Cecily added.

"He's related to you," Drew pointed out.

"Don't remind me," Cecily muttered, smirking, and then Drew did the most unexpected thing. She laughed. Even Cecily seemed surprised, but Tanaka just couldn't help it. Here she was loathing that blond buffoon, but it turned out even his own cousin hated his guts.

"He's such a bloodthirsty pig," Drew agreed, and Cecily smiled shyly in return. Perhaps she was embarrassed to be caught bashing her own family. Blood before all and all that.

"Sucks that you have to get married to him."

Drew frowned. "Indeed. Let's just say I'm not looking forward to it."

…

Cecily smiled, the sort of lazy-cat smile that a girl who didn't care about anything wielded. She was very clever. It used to fool Drew (it didn't anymore). Drew hid a smile, trying her best, _really_ , to pay attention as Octavian said some nonsense at the dinner table. Aphrodite was fully invested but Drew was more distracted than not.

Cecily touched Drew's forearm gently, and the Princess found herself shuddering reflexively at the sensation. When her mother touched her, it was to scare her into submission, to _control her._ This… was different. A sign of sympathy, or perhaps something else, Drew wasn't quite sure. This was uncharted territory for her, unlike anything she'd ever known before, but it was so exhilarating.

…

Drew's stomach churned. This was the story in which she was drunk beyond reason, and she wasn't drinking with her new betrothed, but a newfound friend, except Cecily wasn't even really a friend, and it was all too much. She couldn't _think_ straight. And here, in the moonlight of the Raya's infamous, luxurious garden, Cecily's pale skin was translucent like a ghost slipping away, white like a bowl of milk, or the glowing moon in the sky. Cecily's gold eyeshadow was glittering dangerously, gold sparkles in her ginger eyelashes.

Maybe that's why she found herself attached, hip to hip, and purple lips against the red ones of Langen two minutes later, regret already digging its way into Drew's chest, but it was too late and she had committed.

Octavian was stupid and the Langens were bloodthirsty beasts, but at least one good thing had come out of this. Or bad, depending on how you looked at it. Drew was _so_ dead if anyone ever found out, but her head was floating somewhere on cloud nine, and that was honestly the least of her worries at the moment.

"Help me with my dress?" It was more of an invitation rather than a question, but Drew obliged anyways, unfastening Cecily's corset with drunken difficulty, and easing the shimmery gold off Cecily's figure.

Surrounded by blooming flowers and vivid green leaves, bathed in the light of the moon, Cecily looked like a goddess.

"You're…" Drew trailed off, speechless, her mind unequivocally hazy. Cecily took her by the waist, and kissed her soundly.

"I'm yours," Cecily promised gently, because everyone in a royal world needed to be owned, needed to be controlled. It happened to the best of them. Drew blinked.

"No, you're your own person, Cecily," she refused.

Cecily snorted. "I'll never be my own."

"When I'm in power, when I'm Queen, when I'm bigger than I am right now, I'll make it so." Drew's voice wavered.

"That's a reckless promise," the Langen Duchess pointed out.

"It's what I'm best at."

* * *

**Nico**

He'd known, deep down, that it would come, but he didn't expect it to come so soon.

Regret was one hell of a depressant.

And then he regretted his regret too, which was just _so_ confusing, every time he passed Will Solace, and his face fell, and Nico felt like a bulldozer plowing right over a sunflower. But then Persephone found another girl for him to meet, and she was nice, and she smelled like lavender, but Nico hadn't really realized he preferred sunshine, mint, and lemon until his legs had been tangled with the tan legs of a healer.

Cigarettes didn't smell like either, so he liked those the most.

He didn't struggle with the sin as much as the responsibility. He had never been a firm believer in faith, and it wasn't that anyone was particularly religious. It was frowned upon as a sin in their culture, not because some asshole in the sky wouldn't accept them. Royals had ditched religion centuries ago, but it was the societal pressure that really got to him.

Bianca would've been ashamed of him. He bit the inside of his cheek, drowning in self-loathing. Cupping the flame on the tip of the cigar, he protected the fire from the biting wind, and then lifted it to his lips for the fourth time that day.

…

"Are you sick?" Persephone inquired, looking at her son suspiciously.

He scowled. _Sick of this bullshit, maybe._ "No," said Nico instead.

Persephone felt his forehead and he felt like he was five years old again. He roughly pulled away. "I'm not sick, mother."

"You look pale," she commented, her dark eyebrows scrunched together. She looked like Bianca when she did that. Nico wondered if she knew.

"I _am_ pale," Nico pointed out, rolling his eyes.

She sniffed. "No need to get snippy, young man." She tilted her head and inspected him some more. Nico let out a sigh of exasperation. "What was wrong with the last one?"

"Nothing." Nico ran his hands through his hair, anxious.

"So why aren't you picking her to be your Queen?"

Nico half-heartedly shrugged.

Persephone pursed her lips, glaring at her son. "Stop sulking, Nico. Own your title." He stood a bit taller, trying to please her. "You have to choose soon. You only have two more years until you're crowned, so no more of this nonsense, you understand? I want one chosen by the end of the year."

"Mother!" he snapped. "Why can't you just let it go?"

"It looks shameful!" she countered. "You have so many choices, and you're breaking so many hearts," she reasoned. He snorted.

"As if they want anything more than the title."

"Nico!" she chastised.

"Oh, and the money," he added.

Persephone shot him a look of disgust as she momentarily set down her coffee cup. "You're impossible. Go to your bed; I'll call for a healer."

"A healer? For god's sake, woman, I _told_ you: I'm _fine,_ " he stressed.

Persephone waved her hand in front of him. "I don't want to hear it. Out. Now."

His blood boiling, he stalked up to his chambers, angry with himself for feeling this way, angry with his mother for being so good, yet ignorant, angry with his father for being busy fighting these wars, angry with Bianca for being dead and unhelpful, angry with Perseus for starting all this bullshit with his existence, and finally, angry with Will for proving what he'd always hoped would never be true.

Muttering curses under his breath, he defiantly sat on top of his bed. She'd said _go_ to bed, not get in it.

…

The door creaked open behind him.

"I'm not fucking sick, so you can leave." Nico stared at the droplets of rain racing down his windowsill. Silently, he rooted for the small one on the right. It got caught in a bigger raindrop and reached the bottom first.

"Well, she's not wrong that you don't look so great, though I suspect that's more from the fact that you took a lot of coffee today, and the majority of those concoctions were whiskey, not freaking coffee."

Okay, but if the gods were real, they certainly hated him. Nico turned around and peered at the wonder body. Fuck his life.

"Will," he said tersely. Saying his name now when he'd only said his name a few nights back took something from him.

"Sir."

Nico's face darkened. He supposed he deserved to go back to formalities, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"How I take my coffee is really none of your business," he bit out, bitter like the whiskey.

"It is if I have to babysit you, per the Queen's orders because of it," Will shot back, his voice even. It was so devoid of emotion that Nico's heart ached.

"She's delusional. You can go," Nico assured him.

"She asked for me to take your temperature since she suspects a fever."

"Make one up."

"I will not," Will flared, but it wasn't truly angry. Nico's chest was getting that tragic concaving feeling again.

"Fine!" Nico conceded, slamming his drawer shut extra angrily. It was irrational, but he couldn't resist the urge to make some noise. Let his inanimate objects be as angry as he was. "Get on with it then."

Will stiffened. "Whatever you say, Crown Prince."

Nico cringed at the reminder. He tried not to flinch in close proximity of the healer.

When Will's delicate fingers plucked the thermometer out of his white coat, he could remember the same lithe fingers curling in his hair; when Will's blue eyes narrowed in concentration as he read the temperature, he could remember the older boy's eyes rolling into the back of his head, fluttering shut with long, blond eyelashes in complete bliss; when Will's lips pressed tightly together in a thin, stern line, he could only remember the enticing soft gasps between smothering, stolen kisses and wildly abandoned murmurings of a seemingly-mad man in the middle of the night, his breath tickling Nico's ears and stirring the baby hairs around his face.

"No fever," Will declared, interrupting the Pevanshore's reverie as he dropped the disposable thermometer into a nearby trash can.

"Wonderful." It sounded more sarcastic than Nico had intended. "You can tell my mother she's crazy and let me sulk in silence then."

Will stared at him. "I'm not telling the Queen she's off her rocker."

"Shame. I'll write a note, then," said Nico.

"Because you're _such_ a big fan of those," Will agreed, rolling his eyes this time.

Nico froze. It was a punch to the gut. He had slipped out of bed in the middle of the night and not returned, only to come back and find his bed empty in the afternoon. No note, no nothing.

He supposed they couldn't dance around the subject any longer.

"You knew it had to be this way," Nico whispered, shaking his head.

"Yes, but you could've told me yourself," Will challenged. "You're a coward. I would've done my best to understand, but you didn't give me a chance."

Nico's heart pounded, making his head pound equally. "It's wrong" he argued, albeit weakly. "Persephone would castrate me. The kingdom would never love a King with a blackened name."

Will shook his head, his short burst of anger seemingly dying down. He was just… disappointed, only Nico found that much, much worse. "I'm not your _whore,_ Nico. I'm not your glass of whiskey to down when you're feeling sick, I'm not your cigar to nurse late at night, and I'm not a preacher to tell you what's right and what's wrong. I won't tell you how to feel or what to do. All I'm going to say is that people are hateful. It's just what they do. They get high off the pain of others and they're intoxicated with jealousy."

Nico sucked in a sharp breath. "I never said you were a whore," he whispered, feeling very small. Did Will really feel that way? Used? Abandoned? He _hated_ himself all the more.

"Homosexuality isn't a curse, Nico. And heartbreak? It heals with time." Will's voice was gentle, as always, but that only enraged him, and all those questions he'd been bottling up bubbled to the surface, like word vomit.

"Why do you care so much? Why do you look out for me? Why don't you treat me like an outcast? Why don't you shrink away from my touch, and speed walk past me, and whisper behind my back that there's something weird about me or that I'm going to die young like everyone else?" he demanded. "I'm not even nice to you!" Nico's face was flushed now.

Will opened his mouth to answer, but Nico couldn't seem to stop himself from going on.

"What is it? Do you pity me? Are you like _them_ , with their sympathetic sad smiles that I don't ask for, and their pats on the shoulders that I don't want?"

Will's lips parted in surprise.

"Are you still trying to fucking fix me? Because let's face it, Solace, I'm just a pathetic little kid with family issues," he rasped, smiling humorlessly.

Will was horrified, and maybe it was because he was never sober anymore, but Nico couldn't even find the strength to be mortified by his careless words.

"And now that I've got a dead sister, everybody wants to comfort me even if I'm an asshole to them. So sure, let's just turn this into a Shakespearean tragedy. Because now I fall for fucking healers instead of girls."

The blond's eyes widened at Nico's harsh tone and brutal honesty. Will reeled back, staggering slightly as if he'd hit him and Nico knew he'd crossed the line a long time back, but there was no way, nor incentive, to take back the awful things he'd said.

"Oh, Nico," he sighed in resignation.

"I'm sorry I made you feel worthless," the younger Italian boy admitted, his throat constricted and uncomfortable. Will blinked. "I'm sorry I avoided you and didn't tell you why, and left you in the dark."

"It's okay, I—"

"And I'm sorry I kissed you," Nico breathed. His hand was trembling on its own accord and it didn't seem to be able to stop."

"Nico, no…" Will trailed off, his voice thick with emotions.

"I'm sorry I kissed you because I don't think anyone else will ever taste like you do, or talk like you do, or tease me like you do, or smile like you do, or tell stories, or heal, or listen." The word vomit was an endless string of regret.

How could he stay angry at a ray of sunshine? It didn't matter what he said; Will never seemed to get too mad, and as frustrating as it was, it was also simultaneously relieving. He'd wanted to hurt him so badly. If he hurt Will, he couldn't hurt him in return, and he couldn't like him anymore, and everyone would feel so much better.

"I don't want to die." It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. Will's eyes were rimmed red, and Nico couldn't shake the feeling that he was the cause of all of Will's sadness. _Please don't cry, not for me._ "I don't want to die, but I wish waking up every morning didn't feel like a giant _fuck-you_ from the universe every single time. And those who die aren't better than those who stay alive. They just have the luxury of not fucking up any more shit."

Will was _definitely_ upset now. Call it overly-sympathetic. "I'm sorry."

Nico shook his head. _Don't be._ Will kept crying.

"Shit, boy. Look at me. Do they have me right now? Have my parents found out and executed me, disowned me? Has my entire country turned against me and banished me? Are you tying me up and hitting me? Did you trap me?"

"I…" He shook his head.

"And do I look free?"

Will hesitated.

Nico threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "I am. I'm only locked up when I want to be."

Will sniffled again.

"Do you hear me?" Nico shook him, momentarily jolting when he first touched Will. He'd forgotten how soothing his touch was. "I'm fine if I want to be."

"It's not up to you how you feel," Will whispered to him. "It's not something you can change; it's something you're born with. So you'll never really be free."

Nico shook his head again. "That's up to me to decide. You don't have to worry about that shit."

"But," Will continued, "you don't get to decide if they hate you, which we both know they will. You don't get to decide how your parents will react, you don't get to decide your future, and all because of a part of you."

It pricked at his heart. It was true in every sense, but Will did _not_ need to worry his pretty little head about him. If he died, he died. And if he lived, he'd lived as he pleased.

"We'll see," Nico decided instead.

He was dimly aware of Will pushing the cup of 'coffee' out of his hand. Maybe he _had_ drank too much of it. Will eased him gently into bed, helping him take off his shoes and socks. Will helped him slip off his uncomfortable uniform, too.

"You should get some rest. You're flushed and you look like you're burning up," Will murmured, sticking a thermometer in his mouth. Nico's eyelids felt heavy, and his bones felt so weighed down. The healer's face was still blotchy.

"No, I'm fine," Nico argued weakly, sinking into the cushions. Will pursed his lips at the temperature once he took the thermometer back.

"No, Nico. Let me take care of you."

"But I hurt you," the Prince opposed, rasping quietly and sort of delusionally. "I still hurt you now. My mind hasn't changed," he reminded the healer.

"Shh— I know," Will assured him. His voice was going fuzzy in Nico's ears. "You're tired, and easily irritable from exhaustion," Will babbled. Nico tried to listen, he really did, but his concentration was cutting out.

"But I forgive you," was the last thing the Pevanshire heard before conking out entirely, a fluttering impression of a kiss on his forehead left behind, leaving Nico to wonder if he was just dreaming of heaven, or if Will had really kissed him.

Despite himself, Nico really hoped it was the latter as he drifted off for the first time in fucking _days._

* * *

**Unnamed**

"She killed Queen Medusa?" he hissed into the phone.

"She did. She's a wild card, sir."

He tapped his finger uneasily against the side of the cabinet. "And she's all the more dangerous because of it, because she has no filter, because she's suspicious of the monsters she sees."

"Yes, sir."

"And the Prince?"

"No information on him, sir. He's sought refuge with the Amazons and they're a very tight-knit society. What happens in the base stays in the base."

"I see," he drawled, mildly irritated.

"What will we do, sir?"

His lips curled up as a plan formed in his brain. Yes… it would be perfect. Of course, it would require some thinking. "I think I know how to please everyone," he decided.

"Yes, sir?"

"Except her, of course." He laughed coolly at his own joke. "But she's got a big mouth and it's better this way," he assured himself, smirking. He _loved_ it when things went his way. "I don't need her spilling the family business. Speaking of, what test are you on right now?"

"112."

"Still failing?" he queried.

"They keep going rogue, sir. But at least they've stopped dying. Such a waste of resources."

"Indeed," he agreed. "And how many in the hospital?"

"About sixty, sir. Business is booming, and secrets are still secrets."

"Excellent." He paused. "And Julius? I'd like to settle this now."

"Yes, sir, right away. What can I do for you?"

"Get me the Queen on the phone. We have some… business to discuss."


	18. Hummus

**Annabeth**

"Find Percy," Piper instructed on her right. "And get me a healer too. She needs first aid."

Annabeth hadn't even realized she'd been injured in her escape. One of Luke's guards must have nicked her without her noticing.

Or, the more terrifying prospect, the Queen had cut her while being dragged around, but _no._ The Princess took a deep breath. Medusa was dead, for sure. Countries were grieving her successful assasination, it had been heavily televised, all strategically planned by the Princess herself. She had impaled her _twice_. There was no use feeding her imagination when it was impossible.

Annabeth was dimly aware of some girl wrapping her forearm in a cloth bandage and expertly applying pressure.

"She lost a whole lot of blood," someone on her left said matter-of-factly.

Piper cursed. "Will she be okay? I didn't notice and she didn't say anything. I— I didn't know."

"Don't worry about it. She'll be fine," said the healer.

"Are you sure? She looks a little woozy."

Annabeth blankly stared out the window as they fussed over her.

"Shit, you're right."

"Where the fuck is Percy? What about Jason?" the brunette demanded. Her voice was fading slowly and steadily. "She could use some emotional support. Look at her. She's so pale!" Annabeth's ears were ringing, and she was nauseous.

"Piper, please. Calm down. Your panic won't help her," said Jason. Or at least, it sounded like Jason.

"Don't you think I fucking know that? Seriously, y— oh my god!"

Annabeth felt the bright lights slip away as it all promptly went black.

…

When she awoke, she came face to face with sea green, a sight for sore eyes.

Annabeth blinked away her exhaustion, though it remained down to her very bones. She struggled to sit up, but she felt him help her steady herself.

"Percy," she acknowledged, her voice wavering. She squinted at the bright lights. "How long was I out?" She couldn't even remember passing out, or why she had. Honestly the last thing she remembered was getting off the plane after landing in the Amazon base.

"Probably about five minutes, so you're fine. Just a bit too much blood loss."

Annabeth glanced at her arm, bandaged both from the gash and from where they had given her more blood. She let out a puff of relief. "Okay—okay, good," she added shakily.

Percy's face scrunched up. "You look like you're about to throw up."

"Thanks."

He smirked. "At least you haven't lost your sense of humor entirely. I can tell Piper you're fine."

"Of course I am."

"So cocky," he commented.

"I try," she agreed, shrugging slightly.

Percy pursed his lips. "Okay, now that you've put up a wonderful facade and feel secure in your emotional state, want to tell me what the fuck happened to you?"

Annabeth blinked. Lord, that boy could see through her any time of day. "I like Jason better."

"Too bad. He's consoling your friend who was slightly hysterical after you passed out. I'm pretty sure she thought you died."

A stab of guilt shot through Annabeth. Poor Piper. She'd talk to her later, apologize too, maybe. Thank her. Piper was a lifesaver, and loyal to her very end.

"And now that you're out of excuses, I'd start talking," Percy added.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What if I don't want to?"

"You looked like you'd seen a ghost. I think you kind of _have_ to," he reasoned. She was acutely aware that his hand was entwined in hers, almost as if subconsciously. She didn't have the heart to point it out, silently relishing his warmth and the comfort he provided. Not that she could ever admit that out loud.

Annabeth bit her lip, nervous.

Percy's expression softened, a face she liked to think he reserved only for her. "I'm not going to tell anyone anything," he promised.

"Are you angry?" She danced around the topic of his brother and the effect Luke had on her.

"That you murdered my step-mother in cold blood?" he queried. She winced; it sounded much worse when he posed it like that. "Not really," he shrugged. "She was always a manipulative bitch and she killed my father, so she had that going for her." His tone was light, but his expression was cold, full of repressed anger and bitterness.

Annabeth shook her head. "No. Are you angry that I robbed you of the chance to kill her yourself?" she amended.

"Oh. No," Percy reassured her, squeezing her hand tightly. "As long as she's gone." And then, "I hope it hurt." He pressed his lips together and Annabeth was taken aback by his violence.

"Daggers through the heart usually do. Especially when stabbed again."

"Mhm," was all he said. He was growing distant, but snapped his gaze back to her. She wished he wouldn't. She wasn't prepared for what came next.

"I saw him," she finally admitted the truth. She didn't have to specify who he was. There was only ever one _him._

"I figured."

"Really?" Annabeth raised an eyebrow.

"I've never seen you so traumatized," he whispered, truthful. "Not when you had a dead body collapsed over you, not when you stabbed Medusa— I saw the broadcasts, not ever. There was only one person who could be responsible for that state of mind."

"Oh," she murmured, dumbfounded.

They sat in silence for some time.

"I really, _really_ wanted to kill him," said Annabeth to no one in particular.

Percy didn't look at her. "I know."

"No, Percy." She tilted his chin up with her index finger. Percy looked at her, uncertain. He seemed so small, like her. "He's killed people in my name."

He frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Hesitating, Annabeth pulled her numb hand away from him, reaching into her pocket. She brought out a crumpled piece of parchment, stained red with blood. She'd swiped a couple off the table when Malcolm hadn't been looking. "He's a _murderer_." She discreetly pressed it into his hand.

Percy pulled away, unfolding it and scanning it carefully. His jaw tensed as he read. Those notes were so intimate, in the manner in which Luke signed it every time, and so horrifying, seeing as he'd _killed_ for her.

There was a lump in her throat as she watched the emotions pass over Percy's face, and then he looked blankly up at her, handing the note back.

"I know," he acknowledged, his voice thick. "I'm sorry he wrote you that."

Annabeth wasn't sure what possessed her to do it, but suddenly she found herself withholding information. She didn't tell him that there were more, hundreds, a thousand perhaps in the Ashington Castle, and that more probably arrived each day. She didn't tell him they were all signed the same way, didn't tell him that he was mass murdering for her, not just committing one homicide, didn't tell him that Luke said he'd stop murdering if she just came back.

"Me too," she said instead.

"Annabeth?" he sounded small again. She looked at him. "What did… what did he look like to you?" he asked, not meeting her eyes. He stared indifferently out the window, but she knew he cared.

As much as she'd loved Luke, Percy had loved him first. Luke was his little brother, despite it all. To lose a father, to think he'd lost a mother, to lose a cruel step-mother, and now to lose a brother, it probably got to him much more than he let on.

"He didn't seem like the Luke I remembered," she retold honestly. It was cruel to give hope where none should've been. "Medusa definitely did this to him," she began, and then explained the mind-control, much to Percy's disguised horrification. "But this was all him when I was there. His mother was _dead,_ Perce. He had nobody micro-controlling him, no one to whisper sweet promises in his ear, no one to tell him to be cruel. It's in his nature now. There's no going back." She felt like she couldn't breathe.

Percy didn't look much better. "Then it's settled. He's gone. There's no cure for this," he told her.

"Percy, I killed people." Annabeth blinked, and didn't even realize she was tearing up until Percy brushed a stray tear away from her eyelashes. Thankfully, no more tears rolled down besides that one.

He twirled her golden coils in his finger soothingly. "I know." But he didn't know. He didn't know that every time Luke ended someone's life, it was because of his obsession over her, it was because of _her._ She couldn't breathe.

"Deep breaths, Chase," Percy coached, breathing with her. She slowly calmed down. As if he could feel her need for reassurance, he broke the silence. "I miss him too, you know. Sometimes."

Oh. It was such a relief, like a burden had been lifted off her.

"I wanted to kill him," she repeated. "But I also…" she trailed off, confessing without ever really confessing. Percy would know what she meant. He felt the same, surely.

"Me too." He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, and after coaxing him into the infirmary bed by her side, they watched the clouds pass by, and the birds chirp, and the squirrels scurry up trees. Percy told her about why he was all bandaged up with a cast, and Thalia, and the arena as it began to rain.

She quietly contemplated if it was raining back in Thasite, too.

* * *

**Piper**

"Piper McLean." The Queen's formed her name, just her name and nothing more, but it was enough to send shivers down her back. "Today you join our sisterhood," she paused, glancing to the Canadians, "and our brothers," she permitted, "on a journey of a lifetime, a revolution that will be remembered for centuries to come. You have proven yourself to our cause and your valiant nature by doing what others could not. I hope you can give to us as we will give to you in time."

Piper had yet to fully come to terms with the fact that she'd assassinated a goddamn _Queen._ Her disruption in all things royal was spreading like wildfire in both the Amazon bases and Canada, but also in the royal world. She wondered if Aphrodite was proud of her _now._

She could feel everyone's eyes on her, but for once she did not feel small as she might've have long ago, blissfully hidden in the shadow of her sisters. To immerse oneself in oblivion, it was a pleasure she'd forgotten now, but she suspected it was a better thing than not. There was safety on the sidelines, but the game was played on the field.

"We will ascend," Artemis began, and as the Amazons began to echo their promise alongside their leader, she felt irrationally excited to finally recite it with them.

"For gold and glory." Piper could not disguise her grin. She wondered if anyone had smiled in front of the Queen like this before, and though she doubted it, she was honored to be the first. And she was honored for what comes next.

Artemis stood face to face with Piper, a shiny piece of silk in her hands. She held it out and Piper accepted the golden bandana all while holding her breath, despite herself. Around her she could hear the crowd erupting in polite applause and the pounding of tall staffs on cement. Thalia was cheering, shameless as ever, loudly by Reyna's side. Rachel was with her, and Piper wasn't sure who was louder. Hazel hugged her and Frank too. Jason's eyes shined with pride and as she walked past him, he whispered a "congratulations" in her ear, tickling her cheek. She bit her smile to keep her smile smothered.

Annabeth was sitting next to Percy, and though Piper could visibly see that she was exhausted, Annabeth patted the spot next to her, inviting the brunette to sit with her. Percy's head was buried in a stack of papers, so the Raya didn't say anything to him. Piper slid on the bench next to her. The Queen was saying something in the background, but she was fully invested in the blonde now.

"Are you okay?" Piper found herself whispering. There were dark circles under Annabeth's eyes and she couldn't help but theorize what plagued her friend's nights, turning her sleep restless.

Annabeth, forever a troop, waved her hand dismissively. "I'm proud of you, Pipes," she whispered, squeezing her hand. Piper clutched the bandana tighter in her hand. It meant more than Annabeth even knew.

"Thank you," she permitted, taking Annabeth's hand into her own and focusing on Reyna, who was speaking now. She would interrogate Annabeth of her pain later, when she had healed some.

* * *

**Percy**

"He'll come if she's there."

Percy couldn't recognize the voice. He willed his dream forward, passing through a few corridors until he was in a gloomy room, cracks of light escaping the shielded curtains into the dark room.

A door opened in front of him cracked open, and panic seized him, Percy having the urge to hide. Then he reminded himself that it was only a dream, no one could hear him, could see him, could hurt him. At least not physically.

White light flooded in. Percy concentrated, following a cloaked figure into the blinding room. The walls were a stark white, clean and stainless. In the corner were chains, bound to the ground and opened as if they were claws awaiting a victim, a prisoner.

The ceiling was white too, and the ground. And it was inexplicably cold. The door blended seamlessly in with the room. It was what Percy would've thought a room built entirely of mirrors would feel like, and to be in it was making him a bit dizzy.

"And if he comes," the man began talking again. Percy's blood ran cold. He had a pale face and blue eyes. "We'll give him over to the King. Her, too. And then we'll tell Malcolm that he better drop his threats or the girl gets it. It's foolproof and we're sure to win."

Another man, younger it seemed, with floppy brown hair, twitched in a corner. "This just takes care of the royal wars, sir. What of the Amazons?"

"They will not back down for her safety?" He frowned.

"Of course not. She's just a piece of their plan. They can win without her."

The blue-eyed man stared down the younger one. "Very well. We'll use them as bargaining chips for them to fight on our side as well. A two-part deal."

The brunet grinned. "Clever, sir."

"Come," he said. "Let's examine the other room. I want to make sure everything is in place."

Both men lumbered off into the gloom, and Percy turned toward the corridor. Off in the distance, he could hear screaming. It was feminine and very high-pitched. He winced.

He turned and passed through the door. Inside, the room was identical to the one before, except for one huge contrast. Bound up in the chains was a small girl, probably hardly sixteen, though the wariness in her face and distress made Percy feel that her years had been much longer than others. She had a thin face, and was unhealthily pale. She was dressed entirely in white, like a hospital gown, and she was screaming so loud Satan would wake up.

Percy scanned the surroundings, but saw no immediate threat, and he could not fathom for the life of him why she was freaking out so much. Surely she had been bound for a while (there was dried blood around her wrist and scars, proving that she had been struggling with the restraints for long), so why had she suddenly decided to start screaming?

The room was completely sealed up. It smelled of stale breath and tarnished metal. It didn't seem possible that she could have survived so long without suffocating. Even in a dream, Percy was already starting to feel panicky, struggling to get enough oxygen.

Tears were flowing down her cheeks, and there were dark circles under her eyes. The son of Poseidon cringed. He was about to leave her and explore the other rooms, trying to dig up as much information as possible, but then he noticed something small that made his scalp prickle in fear.

On the inside of her wrist was a miniscule tattoo. It was a black circle with a plus sign in it, the solar symbol for Earth. Then he scanned her face more carefully.

A daughter of Atlas.

Atlas was an old name people didn't talk much of anymore, and there was only one other person he'd known with that tattoo, and that was Zoe, and she was _dead_ , killed in that cage so long ago. Atlas had tried to create a dictatorship many, many years ago, back when Poseidon had been a young boy. He had told Percy about it, a story all future Kings knew about.

He had been punished, pressed to death, and his family had been destroyed, each and every one was killed. Atlas, ever the dictator, had tatted every member of his bloodline including himself, perhaps to prove their unity, or maybe just to seem crazier than he already was. It was then that their nations came to be: Thasite, Epresh, Sumisu, Baca, Jirot, Kreoca, and finally, Canada, who had always been separate, on the western hemisphere. They had originally worked together to destroy Atlas, and since then, they'd grown to resent each other, thus sparking the current wars.

It was said that Atlas had no children, but Zoe had been living proof, and Zoe had joined the Amazons. Turned out she hadn't been an only child. Percy mildly wondered if Zoe had known that.

Atlas' family was fucked up, but that didn't mean his children were. They'd grown up with no influence, only knowledge of their passed father. Despite himself, sympathy edged into his chest. She was clearly tortured by _something_ , and the haunted expression on the girl's face made his heart hurt and his blood boil.

Then he noticed something between her feet—a tattered piece of cloth no bigger than his palm.

A bandana, Pecy realized. A golden bandana. It had been shredded to bits. That meant… she, too, was an Amazon.

"Miss," Percy said, "where is this place? We'll save you…"

The image faded, and someone's voice whispered: "Percy."

At first, Percy thought he was still asleep. When Annabeth had gone on her quest, and even before that, when he had been promised to Drew, and her to his brother, and when he'd been locked up by the Amazons in that dark cell, all alone, he'd spent weeks dreaming about Annabeth, her soothing voice getting him through some rough patches.

He woke up in a cold start, beads of sweat at the edges of his hairline. For a moment he thought it was his little brother. He felt that unfamiliar, old ache in his joints, probably because Thalia had busted him up real well, but also because he used to stifle his complaints and get out of bed to see what Luke wanted.

But then he realized that _no,_ Luke wasn't his Luke anymore, and _no_ , he didn't have to stay up with him and fetch crackers and stay by his bed until his nightmares of someone prying into his mind went away. It wasn't until now that Percy had realized the _true_ meaning behind Luke's childhood nightmares.

Or the fact that the figure in the doorway was blatantly feminine.

As he opened his eyes and his vision cleared, he realized that she was really there. She was standing by his berth, smiling down at him. Her blonde hair fell across her shoulders. Her storm-gray eyes were bright with amusement.

He remembered that time he'd fought the hydra, only to pass out after its defeat months ago, when he'd woken from a daze and found Annabeth standing over him. She had said, _you drool when you sleep._ She was sentimental that way.

"Wh—what's going on?" he asked. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," she said, her voice low. "It's the middle of the night."

"You mean…" Percy's heart started to race. He realized he was in his pajamas, in bed. He probably _had_ been drooling, or at least making weird noises as he dreamed. No doubt he had a severe case of pillow hair and his breath didn't smell great. "You sneaked into my room?"

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Percy, you've been eighteen for a couple months. You can't seriously be worried about getting into trouble with the Amazons."

"Uh, have you seen their arsenal?"

"Besides, I just thought we could take a walk or something. I want to show you something—I discovered this little place that I think you'll like."

Percy's pulse was still in overdrive, but it wasn't from fear of getting into trouble. "Can I, you know, brush my teeth first?"

"You'd better," Annabeth said. "Because I'm not kissing you until you do. And brush your hair while you're at it."

…

"This is—it's beautiful, Annabeth." His eyes flickered over the crystal water, so clear that he could see the bottom, and it was illuminated blue, sparkling by its own will.

"I haven't quite figured out why it lights up like this, but only when there's enough moonlight. I suspect it has something to do with the ammonia, but I'll have to run more tests," Annabeth explained, perhaps hastily as if she was nervous.

Percy glanced at the water. "Maybe the seaweed does something." He shrugged. It wasn't like he was an expert botanist or anything.

She squinted at him. "Seaweed Brain," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

He snorted. "Seriously, that's the best you got?" He chuckled, and she glared, but a tiny hint of a smile peeked at the corner of her mouth.

"Don't mock me," she said, indignant. "It's very clever. Your brain is full of seaweed and your family is dedicated to the sea. It makes perfect sense."

He laughed, thinking for a moment. "Very well, _Wise Girl."_

She wrinkled her nose. "Mine's better."

"Don't care," he retorted, starting to peel off the nicer shirt he'd hastily thrown on over his sleepwear.

"I can't believe you're stripping again."

"Again?" He feigned hurt, smirking to himself. "Are you calling me a whore, madam?"

She bit back a smile. "No, sir," said Annabeth, obediently. "But I do remember you knocking out those guards a while back and changing into their clothes."

"Oh, yes. You'd blushed," he teased, recalling the incident. That had been great fun. Until she'd thrown a shoe at him for accidentally looking too soon. "My face bleeds as does my heart." He was pleased when she laughed.

"I'd expect you to be flushing more right now, Mr. Jackson." She glanced down and he took the opportunity to quickly slip into the water in nothing more than his boxers before she could see. It was dark enough that the water's natural light was beginning to fade and unless she really searched for his underwear, he was thinly concealed. Kind of.

"Hardly," he retorted.

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Please, enlighten me."

"The way I see it, Ms. Chase, I already know you inside more than you know yourself. To know you outside is a weak reason to flush," he added cockily.

She shook her head. "Don't get that excited. You're under the false impression that I'm getting in."

He treaded the water, though bits of it was shallow enough to stand in. It was cool and refreshing, but not so cold that he was freezing. And besides, Thasite was a land of water and sea and ports and ships. This, to him, was home away from home, the only time he'd been in the base and felt comforted.

"It's not that cold," he assured her, scrunching his face up. "Why would you come all the way here only to dip your toes in?"

"I'd rather not even do that," she admitted.

Percy blinked. "Seriously, Annabeth?" She was quiet and he examined her carefully.

All of a sudden it dawned on him. She'd grown up in Epresh, a land far, far away from water, and purposefully. Though she probably knew _how_ to swim, because Ashingtons knew all, she most likely didn't enjoy it, Calbournes being a major adversary.

His eyebrows pinched together. "You're afraid of the water."

Annabeth glared at him. "Don't be nonsensical. It's irrational to fear water. We are made up of around 55-60 percent of water. To fear water is to fear your own body."

He stared at her, a foreign feeling overtaking him. To him, this was home. It was… depressing to think that to others it was their worst nightmare. His heart ached for her and for all the division between them.

"You know what I mean, Wise Girl." He was beginning to like the nickname, a new term of endearment. It suited her. He outstretched a wet hand, water droplets dripping off and causing folda throughout the water.

She hesitated, and for a moment, she wore her fear on her sleeve. "I really don't want to, Percy," she said, trying to remain cool, but it was clear she was desperate.

"Annabeth," he reasoned, his voice gentle, "I could swim before I could even walk. You're not going to sink with a son of Poseidon right by your side. Besides, your feet will touch the ground on the shallower areas. You're only a bit shorter than me."

She bit her lip, unsure. "You won't let me sink?" she clarified.

"If you sink with me holding you up, you're the unluckiest person in the world. You're going to be okay, I swear," Percy reassured. "Besides, you know how to swim, don't you?"

"I do. It's just… been a while. And I only learned out of necessity, for survival reasons. Never for pleasure." She paused. "Okay," said Annabeth finally. "Okay," she repeated, drawing in a shuddering breath.

He reached out further with his fingertips. She sat by the water's edge and peered in, meeting his gaze with uncertainty.

"I _promise_ ," he said fiercely, locking his fingers with hers and squeezing. This would be good for her, he just knew it.

Meticulous as ever, Annabeth began to undress, pulling her dark armor over her head and stacking it neatly on the side. He leaned over the shore, admiring her mind as much as anything else. Only she would fold everything crisply and take her time. It was endearing like her other quirks.

His face flushed when she was left only in her corset, drawers, and stockings. He'd thought he was ready, especially with all the big talk he'd made, but she was so intimidating when she wielded her appearance like a weapon. She'd always been cute but… in this moment, draped in her emotional vulnerability, she was _beautiful._ His heart stuttered. Her legs were just as long and lovely as he had remembered and dreamed about. And then she stepped in.

…

"This is certainly… foreign."

He hid a smile. "Not so bad, is it?"

She tilted her chin upward. "Not what I said." Annabeth glared at him, but she was swimming around a bit now, skimming her soft hands through the water, and watching with the fascination of a young child as ripples spread.

Only ten minutes prior, she'd been clinging to the shore, or him—not that he minded— pale with terror. It was heartwarming.

"Stubborn as ever." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head at her. Percy dipped under the water, letting it rise to just under his chin.

She glanced up. "Hubris, Mr. Jackson."

"Hummus?" He rose in the water, assuming he'd misheard. Don't get him wrong, he loved the chickpea, tahini masterpiece, despite it being a while since he'd visited the Middle East, but that would be a rather odd thing to bring up in a hot spring pool at midnight.

Her lips tipped up, and then she laughed. It made him feel all warm inside. " _Hubris_ ," she corrected, her tone light. "Pride," she rephrased. "Though I've always wanted to visit the Middle East."

"I know what 'hubris' means, Miss Chase," said Percy, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Shocking," she proclaimed, shoving him rather harshly. If it had been anyone else, he would've thought she wanted him to back off, to give her space, but with her that was her way of an invitation. He slipped his fingers around her wrist, tracing the delicate inner skin.

"I read," he protested.

"Oh, really? What's your favorite then? _If A Pig Wore a Wig?_ " she mocked him, her pearly whites lighting up in the dark.

He rolled his eyes. "I like _McTeague_ , actually, as well as _David Copperfield_ , _Dracula_ , and _The Island of Doctor Moreau_. And for children's books, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ was always a favorite of mine. My mother read it in the voices and everything," he fondly recalled.

He dimly wondered how Sally was doing now, and Paul, too. And… he momentarily allowed himself to remember the sister he'd left behind. He'd come back home someday, and he'd talk to Estelle, and watch over her like how he'd watched over Luke growing up, and he'd make her cookies like their mother, and he'd read stories of Alice until her dark eyelashes fluttered shut.

Annabebth softened. "I liked _David Copperfield_ as well," was all she said, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Let me guess, you're a _Pride and Prejudice_ kind of lady? Perhaps _Little Women? Emma?_ " he speculated.

She rolled her eyes. "Hmph," she said, which meant yes. Percy laughed.

"A closeted romantic!" he exclaimed, thoroughly amused. "You act so cynical," he accused. "But I'm more cynical than you. You're a believer." He wasn't sure why he was so excited by this new information, but that didn't stop him. She ran her free hand up his arm in a distracting manner.

"Nobody needs to know," she whispered, smiling shyly. His heart thumped loudly and he was brought back to the original topic: hubris and hummus.

"I'll take you to the Middle East someday," he promised before he could stop himself. It was a promise of the future, of something bigger than himself, and as frightening as it was, it was also everything he'd never knew he wanted. "I've only been once before myself, but I was old enough to remember, and it was beautiful, and colorful, and musical, and the buildings were stunning— you would love it." His throat felt tight, his face warm in this close of proximity to her.

Her cheeks turned a dusty pink. She didn't reprimand him, tell him not to make foolish promises, but he was loyal to his very end, and he would _not_ break this promise of someday. It was a long time coming, but it would come, no doubt.

"I've only read about it in books," she breathed.

"Like you've read of hubris?" he gently redirected her to her main point.

"Oh, yes. My fatal flaw, Seaweed Brain, a common concept in Ancient Greece. Everyone has one, and mine is hubris."

"I see."

She hesitated. "Don't you ever feel that you could do better than those before you? That you could create a more beautiful empire, that you could build the world better than it is now?"

He shifted his weight. "Not really," he admitted. If he ran the world, he was sure it would burn to bits. That would be horrifying. Perhaps that's why the prospect of being a King had always scared him.

She blew out some air, blowing her curls in her face back. "Well, then your fatal flaw isn't hubris."

"What do you think it is?"

The blonde pondered for a moment. "Loyalty," she decided after a moment.

He laughed. "That's not a flaw."

Her lips pressed together, and the smile on his face died. "Don't be so sure, Percy. You would give up anything and everything for the people you love, and it makes you weak just as much as it makes you strong, just as all fatal flaws do," she warned. She seemed pained, and it pained him to see her like that, as if she was already imagining his death, him going out like a martyr as he'd always thought he would.

…

"I wish we could leave," she admitted quietly, not meeting her eyes. "I wish I could run away from this place, and Epresh, and all of it, and leave it all behind, and just travel the world, and enjoy myself, and let these wars end themselves."

Percy looked up at her. "So leave," he encouraged. "Take me with you." There was no hint of a smile on his face, only seriousness. "You are not beholden to the responsibilities you have indicted yourself with, and I wish you would understand that."

She hesitated and he frowned. "It's a delusional thought. Besides, I want this."

"How so?" he queried. He wished she would leave this place, would understand that she didn't have to save the world every time. She risked her neck for her causes and as much as he admired her courage, he spent equal amounts of time fearing for her too.

Leave him to die a martyr, or a good man, or a traitor, or not. Let her die in her sleep as an old, frail woman, just as beautiful as she'd been as when she was young. Let her have that bliss, that peace. Let the gods care for her when they were apart like they had for so long.

"It's not just like that. I can't just swim away."

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid I'll drown." She took a deep breath and stared at him in the eyes, offering the world's smallest smile. "I'm afraid I'll drown."

…

Impulsively, Annabeth bent and kissed his palms, the healed cuts on his hands, and the scars of a Prince. Then she folded his fingers closed, her own hands over his. When she looked up, his pupils

had widened. He could hear her breathing. His skin prickled all over.

"Annabeth," he said. "Don't."

"Don't what?" She drew away from him, though, instinctively. Percy regretted it immediately, he could sense her hesitance, that she thought he did not want to be touched. She could not have been more wrong.

"The military taught me control," he said, his voice tight. "I have every kind of control, and I have learned them over a decade, and I am using them all not to push you up against the side of the hot spring and kiss you until neither of us can breathe."

She lifted her chin. "And what would be wrong with that?"

"I forgot how to feel like an ordinary man," he said. "Not the sun on my skin, or the wind in my hair, or the touch of another's hand. But now I feel it all. I feel—too much. The sun scorches, the wind is like thunder, and your touch makes me forget my own name."

Annabeth studied him, and he once again felt like he had been struck by lightning. "You will grow used to the sun and win," she consoled. "But your touch makes me forget my name as well, and I have no excuses. Only that I love you, Perseus Jackson, and that I would do it all again. I would fight with you in a ballroom, kiss you in an empty castle room, trip after you in my heels as you run down the corridors, lean against you in a gilded cage, leave Epresh, explore dark forests, and get in a goddamn hot spring in the middle of the night." She wrung her hands nervously, but he held it in his own instead, forcing her to look up at him.

"There is no pretending," he whispered, his voice sounding strangled. "I love you with a love that shall never die, not till the sun grows cold, and the stars explode around us, and if there's a world after that, I'll love you then too." He loved the fool in her, the one who felt too much, talked too much, took too many chances, won and lost equal times, lacked self control, loved and hated, hurt and felt hurt, promised and broke some, laughed and cried.

"Say that part again," she hissed, a breath escaping her.

Puzzled, he began: "not till the sun—"

"No," she said. "The earlier part."

He tipped her face up to him. "I love you with a love that shall never die."

He didn't know who had moved toward who first, but he caught her around the waist and was kissing her before she could take another breath. This was a storm. Percy was kissing her, hard and bruising, and when she opened his lips with hers and tasted the inside of his mouth, he gasped and pulled her harder against him, his hands digging into her hips, pressing her closer to him as he explored her lips and tongue, caressing, biting, then kissing to soothe the sting.

She tasted of sweet lemon. It was most bewildering. He pulled away only for a moment, looking dazed and deliciously rumpled. His hair was every which way from her hands running through it.

He put his hands to the laces of her corset and tugged it. Annabeth moved to show him how to unlace it, but before she could guide his hands, he had already wrapped his arms around to the material. "My apologies," he said, "to this harmless corset, may it rest in peace," and then, in the most un-Percy-like fashion, ripped the corset open down the front and cast it aside. "Or pieces." She grinned at his joke. Underneath was her chemise, which she pulled up and over her head and dropped to the side.

Percy was sure the stinging of his palms would come later, but all he could feel at the moment was Annabeth pressed up against him, sitting across his hips. He wasn't sure how, but the rest of his clothes, too, had been discarded somewhere to the side, and they'd migrated out of the water, reclined on the banks of the pool.

Her blonde hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, and down her chest.

"I think that you should kiss me now," she said, though it sounded more like a question, like she was unsure of herself.

Percy flipped them over, careful not to put any of his weight on her, not that she seemed to mind. Instead, he propped his forearms up, caging her face below him. With trembling fingers, he cupped her face and kissed her again because he could and she'd asked and he'd do anything to please her.

He made a noise low in the back of his throat that he hadn't known he was capable of, a sound that made Annabeth's pupils expand her breath come quickly. "Percy," she said, "please, Percy," and she turned her head to the side, allowing him to trail fleeting kisses down the side of her neck.

This part he remembered. This much they had done before in that cold room. He remembered that if he peppered kisses at the base of her throat, at her clavicle, she'd dig her fingers into his back and in this case, arch up into him, crying out. He traced her stomach and her waist, pressing his lips just above her navel, and she whimpered against his ear.

And even when he was afraid of what came next, unsteady, she urged him on, helping him by guiding his hands, and reminding him that he had not lost all the nerves he feared dead after his time in the military, by brushing her fingers across the back of his neck, and tracing the hard planes of his chest and stomach. Percy shivered. When he was unsure of how to please her, his fear was drowned out by her responsiveness: her soft cries as he grazed his teeth along her legs and stomach.

"Perce," she whispered as he kissed her all over. "My Percy." He wasn't used to his name being thrown around so carelessly, without a title, just as he was vulnerable now, without his shields and barriers. To be called by a nickname, it was as intimate as the gentlest of touches.

It was so much better than he thought it would be, as they lay sprawled over the remnants of her clothes and his too. He was enveloped in her scent of lemon and oranges too, and he had never realized that her pleasure would heighten his, and that when he moved in front of her, she would automatically wrap her legs around him. He hadn't realized that there would be laughter and teasing and this easy, slow-going mood fallen upon them both.

She became less pliant and more demanding after some time, raising her face to be kissed over and over again and running her hands through his hair.

He heard himself cry out as he buried himself in her, feeling as though he was standing at a distance and watching them, a stranger. "Annabeth, oh God, Annabeth, Annabeth." He grasped at her waist, desperately clutching onto his last shreds of control, of the control he'd strived so long for his entire life. Coherency abandoned him, leaving him helpless and flushed like her. It was freeing in its own way, but still he refused to let go of control, if only to keep this feeling rushing through them both for all of eternity.

Annabeth's breathing was ragged, and when she went to say his name again, she lost her sense of words, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she tightened around him.

It was like setting fire to a forest, and his last pieces of control evaporated right before him into thin air. He buried his face into her hair and the crook of her neck, allowing the light to overtake him, colors bursting behind his eyelids. When he left Thasite, he had carried this darkness with him, and when he'd left the military, he hadn't realized he'd missed it until he was sitting next to his father in dreadful board meetings, and now she had opened the sun in front of his very eyes, bathing him in golden rays.

When he finally found himself again, he reluctantly pulled away from her. "That was—I—" he cut himself off, horrified to see that there were stray tears on her cheeks. "Annabeth?" He was very aware of the panic in his voice. She offered a tiny smile.

How foolish could he have been? He'd thought it had been perfect, beautiful, more than he could've asked for, but he forgot himself, forgot that he had lost his ability to feel when he had stopped caring, forgot that he was not experienced in this, forgot that he had been so scared when he came back from the wars that he would never love as he had as a young boy, and that as a growing man, he would not love others the way he had learned as an adolescent, but platonically and distanced.

She sat up, covering herself in a jacket, and he thought that was it, that she would stand up and tell him she loved him, but as a friend, and that was all there was to it. He'd told himself many times that he would be able to handle it, but now that he'd touched her and been touched, and stolen kisses in the intimacy of the dark night, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to bear it.

"Percy?" She looked at him curiously. "Percy, you're so far away!" He had indeed scooted a few feet away, giving her space.

He blinked. "But you were crying," he murmured, his forehead crinkling in equal parts confusion and concern.

She looked at him questioningly. "It's because I'm happy, Percy. Because that was wonderful and more than I could've ever dreamed of, or dreamt of dreaming of."

Oh. "Here," he said instead, reaching for his clothes and hers too, but not bothering to dress himself. No one would be wandering out here at this time of night. "My room's a private one since the Amazons don't want be to infiltrate their base with my evil." He traded a smug smile with her, seeing as she slept in a bunk-bed filled room with three other Canadian and Amazon girls. She shoved him again.

…

Back in his room, they curled up on his bed, abandoning their garments at the foot of his sheets. Annabeth fell asleep soon enough, but Percy found himself looking out the window, the delectable blonde curled up against his torso, and twirled her golden strands around his finger in fascination. He found solace in sleep later on, this time devoid of nightmares.

* * *

**Nico**

"I just don't think they're going to play clean."

Nico drummed his fingers on the table, acutely aware that he was distracting some advisors further down the line. He ignored the dirty look, turning his attention back to Malcolm.

"Calbournes have never played fair," he agreed, solemnly. "When is Luke issuing his address?"

"We have a few hours yet," the Ashington assured him, his eyes flitting around the room. His face was set grim.

"I say we send more troops," King Frederick's voice boomed through the room. Nico cringed. Athena, on the other hand, had fallen silent, seemingly immersed in an eternal depressive state. If she wasn't feeling so good… Nico swallowed. She was smarter than anyone gave her credit for, and he pitied the poor bastard who betted against her… or her daughter. He couldn't detect if her sorrow came from the shit happening around them or because she thought they were going to lose the wars.

Either way, Nico's stomach was churning the rest of the meeting.

"We can't. We need them to use as a backup in case something unexpected happens," Malcolm opposed.

"What could possibly happen?" Persephone called out from the left of him. Nico wanted to smack her, to shut her up. It was irrational, but he was tired, and therefore easily irritated.

"That's for them to know and for us to be prepared for," was all Malcolm said.

…

"You. Get over here." Nico pointed to the blond, mildly aware that there were other staff around, discreetly watching him out of the corner of their eyes. And his mother too.

Will warily walked over to him. Nico had not talked to him since that day his mother had bedridden him for a few hours. "Your Majesty?"

"Come with me," Nico ordered, feeling stiff and awkward demanding things of Will like this. The healer just seemed very confused.

"Nico? Where are you going?" Persephone stopped him, holding his arm back and looking at him quizzically. She paid no attention to a mere healer. "You have company arriving soon."

Another girl, yes. But not his idea of company.

"My head hurts," he lied, and stalked out of the throne room with Will awkwardly following him.

…

"Your head hurts?" Will raised an eyebrow, clearly disbelieving, yet still concerned. It seemed he was always concerned.

Nico rolled his eyes. "Of course not." The cool draft of the hallway made shivers run through him. Or maybe it was Will's presence.

Will's eyebrows furrowed together. "Then why did you—"

Maybe it was because Nico didn't know how to express himself in words, or was afraid what Will was going to say in reply, or was feeling particularly reckless, but the Crown Prince pulled the healer in by the front of his shirt, and despite being in the middle of a corridor, he kissed him.

…

"S-stupid kings and queens a-and—"

Will kissed him again, and Nico let out a little sigh of contentment.

"One time," he repeated, frustrated but not with Will. "I had made it very clear."

Nico pulled Will towards him even more, disgusted with his own self and his weak resolve. But Will was so enticing, with his laid back charm and his dorky facts and his bright blue eyes.

"But you didn't promise," Will breathed, smiling a little as he tucked Nico's hair back. "So you can do as you please."

"I don't like you." Nico frowned and Will laughed.

"Well, I like you. Very much," he mumbled against his lips, capturing them once more.

"I'm sorry I ignored you. I'm s-sorry I treated you like shit," Nico gasped between kisses, feeling weak.

Then all of a sudden they were topsy turvy, fallen onto his bed. The bedding cushioned Will's fall and Will cushioned Nico's. He was a little thing next to Will, so he didn't seem to be injured.

Nico stared down at him in astonishment. "What just happened?"

He looked bewildered as well. "I couldn't stand up anymore."

Nico's chest filled with warmth. He had only heard of kissing so hard that one's knees went weak themselves.

Will narrowed his eyes at him. "Did you trip me?" he asked, but he was smiling.

Nico shook his head, barely able to contain this alien giddiness, and joy, and terror all wrapped up into one. He couldn't fight the urge that he was about to do something he'd later regret, but he pushed forward anyways.

"Will?"

He propped himself on his elbows, looking up at the Crown Prince.

"No one can know." Nico swallowed thickly, wringing his fingers until they had red marks across them. They could continue this relationship, this fun, these moments if nobody found out, if it all stayed under wraps, if they were never seen talking in public, if they were only a royal and a healer in the face of other royals.

Will gently pried his hands apart, reclining back and pulling Nico down with him.

"I didn't want to share you anyways," Will teased, keeping the mood light, and Nico let out a breath of relief. "We can be like Romeo and Juliet," Will decided, laughing quietly. "Romeo and Julius."

Nico rolled his eyes again, smothering a smirk. "Romeo was an idiot," he said, smacking Will's arm lightly. Will was highly amusing. "He was one of the first stalkers."

Will's eyes went comically wide. "And you're not?"

Nico smacked him again, and Will laughed again. It sounded like music.

" _Oh, Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"_ Will dramatically narrated.

Nico's cheeks turned pink. "You're so embarrassing."

Will laid his hand on his forehead. " _Thou hast undone our mother."_

Nico felt a rare smile tugging to his face. " _I have done thy mother."_

"No." Will wrinkled his nose. "You have done me," he corrected slyly.

Nico choked up a lung, caught off guard. "Will!" he cried out in mortification. "Don't say that," he chastised as he began laughing as well.

" _Do you wish to cross swords with me sir?_ And then they crossed swords, indeed." Will winked.

"Solace, I swear to fucking gods!"

"Romeo and Tybalt," Will wheezed, laughing like a madman. Nico covered his face with his hands, shaking his head at the ridiculousness that was Will. "Julius gets cheated on, the sequel."

Will's happiness was contagious and Nico prayed to the gods above that it would stay that way.

* * *

**Percy**

Percy woke to the sound of sirens wailing in his ears. It was faint, probably coming from the common center of the base—far, far away from his isolated cabin— but he could hear it. He'd always been a light sleeper.

He shot up in his bed, his hair sticking up every which way. A cold gust of wind came from his window, but he barely flinched. Back in Thasite, he'd stood in freezing seas and roaring oceans alongside his brothers of war. He hastily dressed, glancing at the blonde in his bed. She was still buried in his bedsheets, the covers pulled up to her chin. She must've been freezing. A stab of guilt ran through Percy and he closed the window, locking it with the latch.

"Perce?" She looked up at him with bleary eyes, slowly awakening. He hadn't meant to wake her, but he was sure his sudden jolt in the bed had indeed. The guilt ate at him more for interrupting her sweet peace.

"Sorry I woke you," he apologized profusely, reaching over to fix the comforter for her. He then buttoned up his shirt, reaching for his thick coat.

"Where are you going?" she murmured, sitting up. "Are those… sirens?" She frowned and if it had been any other situation, he would've reveled in that adorable confused expression.

"I think something's going on at the base," he hastily explained, pulling his heavy boots on.

She blinked. "Okay, I'm coming." She started to climb out of bed, but he stopped her.

"No, it's okay. Really. I'm sure it's nothing, but I'm just going to go check. I'll be back in ten minutes," he assured her. "You can go back to sleep."

Annabeth looked up at him with large grey eyes. She cupped his face with one hand and kissed his forehead. Percy felt all warm inside. "No way. I'm coming," she insisted, a hint of stubborn in her face.

"Okay," he whispered. "You haven't got time to dress properly. Let me help you." He remembered how long it'd taken her to change into those guards' clothes so long ago. Women's wear was confusing, for sure.

Percy scooped up her chemise and threw it on the bed for her, running around the room and collecting her armor and boots.

…

Outside, it was a blur of chaos and confusion.

"Thalia?!" Percy spotted the short, black-haired lieutenant running around. Reyna was barking orders on the left side and a fleet of Amazons ran forward to help her. He was acutely aware that Annabeth was shivering next to him. Epresh was always warm, unlike Thasite, being next to the shoreline and all. He gave her his military coat. It was heavy, but thick. She looked so small in it.

"Percy!" Thalia's face was serious. On his right, Artemis was firing off arrows, and Rachel was throwing out weapons to a line of Canadians. "We're under attack!" she briefly explained.

Percy steeled his face. "Who is it?"

"We don't know," Thalia was talking really fast. "But our North border is breaking down and all we know is that someone heard a roar in the Northern forest and reported it. Now we've got some soldiers, dressed in all black to hide their identity, on our hands."

"A roar?" Percy's eyes blazed in anger. If this was another monster thing, he was going to _murder_ someone.

Thalia shrugged helplessly. Someone next to her said something that Percy couldn't quite make out and then ran off. Thalia paled. "Annabeth, get to the North shelter. They need you. And hurry."

The blonde's face hardened, ever the warrior. "I'm on it." Then she looked at him, and Percy felt that his heart was breaking. She was going North, closer to the battle. But before he could caution her, she whipped out her dagger, her expression momentarily softening. "Be careful," said Annabeth, and she brushed her lips on his cheek before running off in the dark of the morning.

"How many have we lost?"

"So far? Three Amazons, and a Canadian girl." Thalia's voice wobbled, displaying her anxiety in full force.

Percy cursed. "Can they hold off the front line without you?"

"I suppose," Thalia agreed, a little breathless.

Percy drew Riptide and it gleamed in the pitch black. Thalia whipped her silver shield out and her knuckles went white around her spear. "Then let's go find the meaning of that goddamn roar."

…

"Thalia, duck!" Percy shouted, and her eyes went wide. It was him and Thalia only. Reyna and the Queen were managing the front lines of the North border with everyone else. Some Canadians were still stationed around the other borders, keeping eyes out for more enemies. That left few to manage the monster.

"How is there a monster here?" Thalia screamed. She still hadn't been able to wrap her mind around ancient Greece coming to life, and Percy couldn't say that he could blame her. That hydra so long ago had been quite a shock for him back then.

"Thalia!" The cyclops swung with its giant hammer and before it could crush the lieutenant, Percy's adrenaline shocked him to move. He leaped forward, roughly throwing her to the ground, and successfully shoving her out of the way. "Snap out it!" he demanded, sweat dripping off his eyebrow.

"B—but," she stuttered. "It's _massive_ , Perseus!" She was utterly and completely terrified, so out of her element. But she was _his_ soldier, and as much as he cared for his warriors, Percy also knew when they just needed to be smacked. Softness and gentle words would not help her now, or she would get herself killed, and maybe even him. So that was exactly what he did.

"Shit!" Thalia grabbed her face after Percy slapped her. "What the fuck, Jackson?!"

"Snap the fuck out of it!" he ordered, rolling out of the way as the cyclops made the earth below them shake with a blow from his hammer. "You are a soldier first, you hear me? You fight before all else and fear is nonsensical! It is your _duty_ , woman, so you will _not_ lose your mind, not now! Do you understand me?" Percy grit his teeth, his sleeve tearing and threatening to fall off. The Cyclops had slashed him a few times, but Percy had gotten him back equal times. He was bloody and tired, and Thalia could not give up now, he could not afford it.

"You will not die on me!" he cried out, shoving Thalia again out of harm's way.

Thalia jolted forward, panic leaving her face and color returning to her. A soldier at heart, just as he'd known. He tore the flesh of the cyclops at his knee, and the monster howled out in pain.

"What do you suggest next?" Thalia screamed over the chaos, awaiting his directions.

"Do you see that tree?" He pointed to a tall pine tree, at least a foot taller than some of the other trees. Its trunk was as thick as the cyclops. "We drive him into it. He's stronger than us. Only he can injure himself enough!"

Thalia's hairline was bloody. "On the count of three?"

"One… two…" Percy could hear his own breathing in his ears. He stepped close to the tree just as Thalia jumped for the Cyclops. "Three!"

…

"Are you okay?" Percy wheezed, clutching his stomach. His hand was slowly coating in red.

Thalia sat up, holding her leg. Her nose was bleeding a little and he was pretty sure the cyclops broke it but she was okay and it was nothing a healer couldn't fix. "Of course I'm okay. You, on the other hand, look like shit." She winced as she stood.

"I'm fine," Percy reassured her, knowing that deep down, past her cold exterior, she really cared. "The north line needs us."

Thalia glanced at the wrecked tree and the large cyclops corpse. "What about… er… that?" She spread her arms wide.

Percy shook his head. "It'll break down, it's fine. Nobody comes in this forest anyways."

Together they limped out of the woods.

…

The chaos of the border had died down, and to his right, Percy could see that the sun was beginning to rise.

Across the pavilion, he spotted the familiar blonde. The anxiety in his chest eased at the sight of her. Not one hair on her head had been touched.

"Percy?" He heard her call him from so far away. She tilted her head to one side. "Thalia!" Then she was running over to them. Her cheeks were rosy from the chilly dawn. She took one long look at them both before turning and hollering. "Medic!"

A boy came running over. He was really, _really_ short with shaggy brown hair and a scowl on his face.

"This is Michael Yew," Annabeth explained briefly. "He's a better archer than a healer, but he'll do." Michael set to work bandaging them both. Percy was more concerned about Thalia; that wound on her face didn't look too good.

"Did we drive them away?" he asked as he watched Michael wrap Thalia's hand with mild fascination.

Annabeth nodded. "But they also ran too far before we could figure out who it was. As far as we know, it could've been anybody."

Percy frowned. "Any suspects?"

"My money's on the Calbournes," said Annabeth, brushing Percy's hair out of his face. "No offense, of course. But with _him_ …" she trailed off and it wasn't difficult to decipher her meaning. Luke's notes were reason to fear him enough.

Percy bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. "Fair enough."

Thalia let out a sigh as Michael Yew ran back to the Canadians. There were plenty more injured to tend to. "Look, Percy. I want to apologize for everything I said. For what it's worth, I really like having you around."

He knew he'd saved her life, but to him, he didn't see it that way. It was just a reflex, him looking out for another life. Anyone should've done what he did.

He stared at Thalia. "No, you don't."

"I know. I have dreams where I staple your fingers to your face." And just like that, the cloud above them lifted.

Behind her, Annabeth grinned. "She's not the only one." And Percy rolled his eyes, cracking a smile of his own.

Their moment of peace was interrupted with a loud clang. Percy spun around to see a small boy, much shorter than himself, with curly hair and dark skin come running up. With his hair and slightly pointy ears, he looked like an elf. He had rough hands and Percy could only assume that he was a Canadian, and he worked in their forgery.

"I can't find Reyna," he wheezed, turning to Thalia. "She's probably assessing damages, but we've got a problem."

"Leo?" Thalia's face scrunched up, all of a sudden becoming serious. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"Calypso." His face was grim, his eyes burning with anger. "She's gone missing."


	19. A Grave Mistake

**Percy**

"I am not saying I'm a prophet, only that I had a prophetic dream!"

"He lies!" someone shouted from the midst of the mob.

"How could that be possible?"

"Because it is my name! Because Calbourne means something even if you try and strip it from me! Because my bloodline represents royalty better than anyone else, and we have both the best and the worst of heroes and villains! What others say about me and what I say about myself are entirely different things!" Percy argued, losing his resolve. He was aware he sounded crazy but—this was getting out of hand. He was many things, but a liar was not one of them. However bitter a thought, he would leave the lying to his brother.

Percy was dimly aware of Annabeth fighting her way through the crowd to calm him down. He didn't want her in this circle of hatred. What if someone hit her or something crazy? He stepped away from her, her efforts rendered futile.

"He acts as if he is one with the gods, living among them! A cockroach on their council of divination and all that is real and right!"

Let's just say that exposing his dream of the girl in that white room, that Atlas girl had not been wise. He hadn't said all—he wasn't stupid—but he had told them that he'd seen a young woman with blonde hair and a pale, skinny face in his dream. He had left out the Atlas tattoo. There was just something inside of him telling him that it was her secret to keep, and he didn't tell them of the empty room either, not trusting of these people.

"He withheld information even if he _is_ being truthful!" Some girl with dark hair pointed a skinny finger at him.

Percy's jaw tensed. "Shall I recount every dream for you at the crack of dawn?" he drawled sarcastically. "Shall I take you on a journey in my mind so that you can experience PTSD with me?" he queried, exasperated. "Or shall I just stab you in the heart with a blade of my own so that you can experience it in real life?" Annabeth was horrified, but he couldn't find it in him to give a fuck.

"He threatens us now! You see it before your very eyes and your ears do not fail you!"

"He's a witch! He killed Calypso!" a young man accused, fear etched across his face.

This time Annabeth whirled around and smacked him, and _hard_. "Have you lost it entirely? Are you so weak as to submit to mass hysteria? We aren't living in Salem, Massachusetts in the 1600s; there will be no burning of anybody!" Annabeth was screaming too and Percy flinched at the realization. She always had control, no matter the craziest of situations, which only proved that collective fear was stronger than the bravest of forces.

Thalia, too, had fallen victim to raising her voice as the scenario erupted into sheer chaos. "Quiet down, all of you!" she demanded. "He saved my life!" she protested, but there was no use reasoning with fear. A title of lieutenant could not mask emotion.

"Put him on trial!"

"No, just kill him; we gave him a chance once, and look how that turned out!"

"This isn't going to help Calypso!" Leo tried to make his voice heard.

"She's dead, man! He's killed her!"

"He has not!" It was Rachel this time, shoving her way to the front. Her green eyes blazed with fury. "He has committed no crime!"

"It runs in the family! They're all traitors!"

"The only thing that runs in the family is vivid dreams!" Annabeth cried out. She had read up on the Calbournes well before he had ever stepped foot into her castle.

"Calypso was loved! Save the victim!"

Reyna was breaking up a fight between Thalia and a Canadian boy. Percy watched as they turned on each other. "That's enough!" Reyna rarely raised her voice, but she did now. Still, the silence never came. Not until—

"I believe him," said Piper, and it started with a few people, but it slowly dwindled down to a stunned silence. Percy suspected it was because the Queen had herself awarded Piper a bandana, had given a royal like her this new honor in all of history. But how was Piper to defend his cause? Knots strangled him from the inside out.

"My mother, Aphrodite, and his father, Poseidon, have always been good friends, especially when Sally Jackson was the Queen," she began, and Percy scanned the dirty faces of the rebellion, but not one of her comrades dared stop her from talking. She looked to him for support and he just shrugged. This was in her hands and in her conscience, not his.

"But my mother is… an interesting individual. She can be quite petty, as I'm sure some of you know."

There were some scoffs, a few snickers. Piper didn't bat an eyelash.

"I believe Percy because," she hesitated, "Poseidon predicted me."

Percy's eyebrows furrowed together. What the hell was she talking about?

"As you all know, I'm the youngest of my family, and Aphrodite desperately wanted a son. It's not a surprise she wanted to uphold the family name as all royals do."

Reyna's jaw clenched.

"So because she knew Percy's father so well and his entire family, she asked him if he foresaw anything. Poseidon said no, he hadn't seen anything. And then one day, perhaps three months before my arrival, Poseidon had a vision, and he told my mother right away. He claimed to have heard the voices of the heavens above, and that they were singing, and that I, too, would sound like the angels."

It was no secret that the Raya family had beautiful voices, but none had been able to sing like Aphrodite's grandmother again, not after some time.

"I was to be another singer, thus giving me the name Piper," the Raya daughter explained. Some seemed skeptical, but others were fully immersed in her story. Percy nodded slowly at her words when she met his eyes again, encouraging her. He knew where this was going. Clever girl; how on Earth had she remembered this?

"Well, Aphrodite was angry, obviously, said he was lying. She cut off trade and we were starved of fish for three months—I remember because when I was younger, Drew, you all know her, told me that without a certain type of fish she'd had less clear complexion—and Percy's home was devoid of all our unique herbs."

"My mom missed saffron," Percy recalled quietly, and people glanced at him in surprise, as if they hadn't expected him to be able to use words and formulate thoughts. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Once I was born, I was just as Poseidon had predicted. Kaleidoscope eyes, a singing voice to rival my great grandmother's, and a girl, of course. Aphrodite apologized and they went back to trading and being friends, until Medusa of course, then they grew apart more, but that's not my point. My point is that having visions that end up to be true is just a unique trait that runs in the Calbourne bloodline, just as our voices run in my family. I'm sure the current King of Thasite has similar experiences."

A throb went through his chest. Percy remembered Luke recalling little things when they were little, like guessing when their pet turtle was going to die a week before, all because of a vision. His brother surely shared the same gift. Or curse.

"Percy's ancestors, to Poseidon's mother, to Poseidon, to Percy, all the way down to his little brother, and maybe someday their children, it is a Calbourne truth. So he is not engaging in witchcraft," she shot a glare at a man in the crowd who shrunk under her harsh gaze, "nor is he an untruthful liar who should be sentenced to death," Piper insisted.

"Is this true?" Reyna demanded, turning to Percy.

He looked her in the eye, not a drop of fear in his blood. "Yes."

"All of it?" Thalia pressed, her eyes like saucers.

"Down to the last detail of Aphrodite's pettiness," he confirmed. He rose up to the scrutinizing gaze, holding his head high.

"I still don't believe it!" someone cried out from the crowd with fear flickering on their face. Percy shook his head at them, at a loss for words, but Reyna turned to the straggler with a sharp look.

"We must be better; we were created to be better. _I_ believe him, and as far as I'm concerned, that's all that matters. My family, too, has its strange secrets and abilities like many do. I will not fault a man for his truth," Reyna bit out. "And I will certainly not allow such _violence_ from men and women who hope to change the world. We will surely be having a discussion about this later, with the Queen, _all of you_." She paused and glanced at him.

"But first, we must collectively set aside our different beliefs and interpret his vision to the best of our abilities. If it rings true in the end, we will have done our best to prevent more disastrous outcomes and we will be prepared for what is to come."

Annabeth stepped out of the crowd. Her hair was frizzy and Percy had no doubt in his mind that she'd fought tooth and nail to move forward. "Very wise, General. Percy, please enlighten us once more with your dream, and omit no detail. We can figure this out." Her grey eyes were large and curious and Percy felt the tension left in him evaporate with her words.

Then he began, telling them of the girl in his dream, of the vacant prepped cell, of the way she'd smelled and looked and cried, and with concealed anger, Leo identified that it was indeed his friend Calypso. He still kept the Atlas tattoo a secret, despite Annabeth's demand. Perhaps he would talk to her of it later, when it was just the two of them with no prying intruders or vengeful Amazons.

Percy then spoke of the men in his dream, and that was fairly sure he'd been in the White Hospital.

"I just don't know who they are," he admitted, shrugging to himself after describing both men. "The one with blue eyes… he seemed so familiar, like I've seen him once before, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it."

Annabeth pursed her lips. "Figure out who's in the dream and we potentially figure who's running this whole operation."

"Exactly," he agreed, looking up at her helplessly. Percy glanced at the faces of Annabeth's friends, only to stop at Jason's.

Jason had gone a pale white and his fists were scrunched at his sides in tight balls. "You said he had white hair too? And a scrunchy sort of face?"

Percy nodded, tilting his head at Annabeth's best friend and former bodyguard.

Jason looked at Annabeth. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize him earlier."

"You know?" Percy hissed, equally surprised, and yet, pleased.

"Of course. Make no mistake, there's only one person with a permanent scowl and a sour attitude with ice skin, though I haven't heard much of him since some of the first wars from when I was just a boy."

"And?" Annabeth asked expectantly. She flexed her fingers nervously.

"Everyone's favorite sunshine." Jason's mouth turned down. "Octavian Langen."

* * *

**Annabeth**

Since that night, Percy's bedchamber had become theirs. It was a wordless agreement, giving them both something to hold on to. They were both much too tired to do much more than sleep, though she was sure gossiping Canadians and Amazons thought differently.

She was pretty sure Jason thought so as well, but not Piper. Piper had an intuition for that sort of thing. Annabeth hadn't even kissed Percy since that night. They were past those surface level forms of affection, treasuring them on the rare instance, but otherwise simply finding comfort in being near each other.

Part of her wanted to join in the larger sleeping rooms, where the children whispered into the night and Hazel shushed them all. It helped them bond, but Annabeth knew she would only frighten them, so she stayed with Percy, the only person who didn't really fear her, or her royal background, or the fact that she dragged the corpse of a Queen throughout a kingdom.

Percy didn't keep her awake on purpose, but every night Annabeth felt him stir. His nightmares were worse than hers, and she knew exactly what he was dreaming of: the moment he severed his father's head from his shoulders. She pretended to sleep through it, knowing he wouldn't want to be seen in such a state, but she felt his tears on her cheeks. Sometimes they felt like they were burning her, but she didn't wake up with any new scars. At least not the kind that could be seen.

Even though they spent every night together, Percy and Annabeth didn't talk much. There wasn't much to say beyond their duties. She didn't tell him about the second note that she found on a body during another invasion, or the next ones. (But Luke still hadn't come after her, despite somehow tracking her at all times, which was even _more_ confounding.) Though Luke was far away, he still managed to sit between her and the Crown Prince.

Annabeth could see him in Percy's eyes, a toad squatting in his brother's head, trying to poison from the inside out. He was doing the same thing to her, both in the notes and in her memories. She couldn't quite figure out why, but she couldn't destroy either of them, and she told no one of their existence.

She should've burned them, but she didn't.

Annabeth found another letter in Canada, during a recruitment. She had known Luke was on his way to the area, visiting the last major city before seeing how his armies were faring. Percy had agreed that they could beat him there. Instead, they found the King already gone.

_June 29_

_I expected you at my coronation. It seemed like the kind of thing your Amazons would love to try to ruin, even though it was quite small. We're still supposed to be mourning Father, and a grand affair would seem disrespectful. Especially with Percy still out there, running around with you and your rabble. A precious few still owe allegiance to him, according to what my mother_ had _said, but don't worry; they will be dealt with. No royal succession crisis will come and take my brother from your leash. If you could, wish my brother a happy early birthday for me. I've always liked telling him ahead of time, and besides, I just want to make sure to say it before it's his last._

_But yours is coming, isn't it? I don't doubt we'll spend it together._

_Sleep safe,_

_L._

His voice spoke every word, using the ink like knives. For a moment, her stomach churned, threatening to spill her dinner all over the dirt floor. The nausea passes long enough for annabeth to slip out of Percy's embrace, to her box of supplies in the corner. Like at her castle, she kept her trinkets hidden, and two more of Luke's notes, still dipped in an unmistakable red, are crumpled at the bottom.

Annabeth felt something like hands around her throat, threatening to squeeze the life from her. Each word tightened the grip, as if ink alone could strange her. For a second, she feared she might not ever breathe again. Not because Luke still insisted on tormenting her, no, the reason is much worse.

Because she missed him. Annabeth missed the boy she thought he was.

Percy stirred in the bed behind her, not from a nightmare, but because it was time to wake. Hastily, she shoved the notes away, and left the room before he could open his eyes. She didn't want to see his pity, not yet. That would be too much to bear.

"Happy birthday, Percy," she whispered to the empty tunnel hall.

…

They hadn't spoken in weeks, and she hadn't realized how much she missed him.

For a moment, Annabeth debated blurting out everything, but fought the painful urge. It hurt to hold back, to not tell him about Luke's notes, or the dead faces she saw every night, or how Percy's nightmares kept him awake. She wanted to tell him everything.

He knew Princess Annabeth as no one else did, as she knew the boy in Jason, but those people were gone. Those people _had_ to be gone. They could not survive in a world like their own. She needed to be someone else, someone who didn't rely on anything but her own strength. He made it too easy to slip back into Annabeth, and forget the person she needed to be.

Silence lingered, soft as the clouds in the bright blue sky.

"If you die, I'll kill you."

Jason smiled sadly. "Likewise."

He was off to scout the borders of Thasite, hoping to gain more information on the Boy King's plans. Annabeth wanted to protect him as much as she wanted to protect Malcolm, and yet, both of her brothers, one of blood and one of choice, were out of her control. Both were headstrong, like her, and though they were perhaps more cautious still, worry gnawed at her aching soul.

"Besides, don't count on my death so quickly."

Annabeth's face darkened. "You know I have to."

A sympathetic expression flitted across his face.

"Being a pessimist is great; I'm always either right or pleasantly surprised." She attempted to lighten the mood.

"The optimistic outlook on pessimism," Jason noted.

Annabeth rolled her eyes.

"The paradox is high in this one." He grinned, but it didn't feel like him.

"What did Piper say?" Annabeth decided to ask finally.

Jason shrugged. "Good luck?" His cheeks flushed though, and annabeth knew that Piper had probably kissed him because _that_ was a thing now, too.

"Idiot."

Jason pulled her close to him, resting his chin on top of her head. He had grown taller than Percy even, and she felt small next to him, but she was proud of all he'd become. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"Says the guy running off to battle," she retorted, but she hugged him with a fierceness that surprised them both.

He offered a crooked smile before pulling away and clasping his hands behind his back, respectfully. He opened his mouth to talk, but she cut him off before he could.

"If you say bye, we're no longer friends," Annabeth informed him.

Jason laughed incredulously. "Why not?"

"You know why." People didn't say bye before battle unless they were going to die.

He took on a more somber tone. "I know. Love you," he said instead, and kissing her forehead in a way that reminded her of Malcolm too much, Jason rode off in the night, flanked by some Canadians. She told herself that she would be too busy to miss him, consoling herself in the warm summer night as he vanished over the horizon, but even she knew it was a lie.

…

Percy didn't sleep that night at all, and for a moment Annabeth feared for her friends who were traveling. Hazel had gone with Jason, too, having already been to the Thasite castle with Annabeth. She felt guilty, but she hounded him for his dreams, but he said he had not dreamt of Jason at all.

"A man with chocolate brown hair," he said instead, shaking his head.

"Oh." Despite herself, a pang of relief hits her, and then guilt. Someone had still died. "Who?"

"I didn't…" Percy froze, his face going a sickly shade of green. "Fucking hell."

"Percy?" The panic was back. "Percy!"

"King Tristan," he said finally.

Annabeth felt like throwing up. She hated Tristan, she really did. He'd killed Zoe in that cage so long ago, but he was Piper's father despite it all. "I suppose we'll have to tell her. And the entire council that a royal is dead," she said, remembering almost as an afterthought. "How?"

"Front line of the war. But he's not the only one, Annabeth." There was a line of concern in his forehead.

"Percy?" She felt small all over again, like an ant to be squashed.

"I-I think King Frederick died too."

"You mean to tell me three Kings are dead?"

"My father, yours, and Piper's. Malcolm will surely be coronated soon. As for Tristan, Charles Beckendorf and Silena had already taken over." He spoke fondly like he knew Beckendorf personally, which Annabeth was sure he did. "The only one still in rule is King Hades, but Nico's set to take over soon, and get married."

But Nico was so young. Annabeth's heart squeezed.

"I'm sorry, Wise Girl," Percy whispered. She supposed she should've missed her father, and she was sure Malcolm was grieving, and Athena, too, but she didn't. That only made her feel worse.

"How's Aphrodite faring? What if she goes on a killing streak? You know she's always had a penchant for malicious behavior and theatrics, a mini Medusa."

Percy stared at her like she was an unfeeling, cold alien, and Annabeth found herself drawing away from him.

"Forget I asked."

She was beginning to feel like that alien, anyways.

…

When Jason came back four days later, she squeezed him so hard he feared his ribs would crack. She threatened him not to tell anyone, and he just laughed and kissed her cheek before hurrying off to take a shower and surprise Piper, who had not heard of his return yet.

Only later did she learn that Phoebe, one of Reyna and Thalia's closest friends, and the best Amazon tracker other than the Queen herself, hadn't returned like the others.

Jason's eyes still glossed over when he told her the story, telling her that they couldn't bring the body back, that he was so sorry. Thalia didn't cry, only stormed out to the stream and sat there for a few hours, but Rachel's chest heaved and she had to excuse herself as the tears fell down her face. Hazel held her and they cried together.

…

"Tiresias," Annabeth stated. "He's the solution to all our problems."

"Tiresias?" Reyna raised an eyebrow. She was perched on a thick maple branch that twisted stretched out to the water. "I haven't heard that name since I was a girl, not that I remember what all the fuss about him was in the first place."

"Hear me out," she reasoned, spreading her arms. Thalia momentarily looked up from sharpening her knife, her back against the wide trunk of the tree. She shrugged, wary, but allowing the blonde to continue.

Annabeth twisted two blades of grass between her fingers as she talked. "I went into town the other day to restock some Amazon supplies and I overheard these two boys talking at the end of a vendor's table, and they were talking about this young man, Tiresias. He's our age, a little younger than me I think, but some say he can see the future."

Thalia's blade fell in the water with a distracting splash. She cursed, reaching into the shallow water and drawing out a dripping weapon. She dried it on her shirt, glancing up at the ex-Princess.

"That can't be true." The General frowned, sitting forward. "No one can predict the future."

"Monsters don't exist either," Annabeth pointed out, and Thalia flinched on her left. Percy had told her nothing, only that Thalia hadn't reacted the cyclops well.

Reyna chewed her bottom lip. "But there must be a logical reason behind that, and we know it has something to do with Octavian, that he's the one behind the crazy master plan of the White Hospital. There's no possible logical reasoning behind predicting the future."

Annabeth tilted her head to one side. "I suppose." Her mind flitted to Calypso, still locked up in the cold place. They had plans to bust her out of that prison later that very day. "But if he can truly see the future, then…" she trailed off, the answer obvious. "We could prevent so much death," she whispered. "We could figure out how to corner Luke, seeing as he's been so evasive so far. We could _win._ "

Thalia looked sort of queasy. "You're treading dangerous territory, blondey."

Reyna was quiet. "No one can play the role of the Gods."

Annabeth blinked. "I know. I'm just saying; it couldn't hurt to try."

Reyna pursed her lips. "Why bring this up now?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm not on display in front of a court for all to see and distrust."

The corner of Thalia's mouth turned up at Annabeth's comment.

"Additionally, I bring this up because we're busting the White Hospital today to try and get to the bottom of this cruel system Octavian has either created or participated in. I bring this up because the boys in front of that vendor, they were talking that Tiresias has been locked up in the White Hospital, also. Maybe if we save him, he'll feel inclined to help us," she thought out loud, scheming. "We could ask him some questions, get some answers, and we don't have to listen to him, but perhaps his insight could help us in some way. Take his words with a grain of salt, but keep them in the back of our mind as a blueprint. Besides, if he chooses to stay with us and accepts our offer to protect him, we alone possess the knowledge of the future. Even if he won't tell us more, he can't tell anyone anything else either, giving us an advantage."

Reyna considered their options, but didn't Thalia seem on board, at all. Thalia shook her head. "Whatever he says will either be a lie, or worse, if it's somehow true, we're fucking with divine intervention and something beyond us. It's risky."

"Risks are required for the success of a revolution," Annabeth insisted.

"I don't like it," Thalia refused. "It's not up to me, but I vote against it. Reyna?"

The Puerto Rican rolled her tongue on the inside of her cheek. "Sorry, Thalia. If it's a chance, no matter how small, it's worth it. I remember my father saying the Devil was in that boy when he was born. My entire city believed it to be true, and even if it's not, what's the harm?"

"What's the harm?" Thalia pressed. "What if something goes wrong? Why can't we just stick to the plan of releasing Calypso and leave? Once we talk to Calypso, then we can talk some more if we should really go back for the future-boy or not."

Annabeth shook her head. "It's too risky to visit that cursed hospital twice. It's more efficient to get in and out once."

Thalia threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine. If Reyna agrees, and the Queen, go for it. But I'm coming with you to interrogate Tiresias. I don't fucking trust him."

Annabeth tore the blades of grass in half and scattered them among the green. "Sure."

…

"Jason," Annabeth hissed. "You take the left flank, and Reyna will take the right," she instructed. He nodded in understanding, taking off down the dark hallway. Annabeth took a sharp turn to the left, Thalia and Percy on her trail. "And we shall find Tiresias," she whispered to herself.

…

They passed room after room, many empty, some filled, but Annabeth would shut the door before the prisoner could scream and alert security of their presence. And then finally, on the last corridor to the exit of the White Hospital, she spotted him. He was huddled in the corner of his room, dressed in white like all the other prisoners, but his face was clear, as if the isolation and blinding white didn't bother him. Annabeth's heart pounded in her chest, nerves nipping at her senses.

Tiresias had dark black hair and upon further inspection, she realized his eyes were clear and milky. He was blind, she understood with a jolt.

"Annabeth Chase, I presume?" He smiled coolly, but something about it was unnerving. Thalia glared at him next to her, not that he could see her anyways. Percy's fingers twitched, as if he was aching to draw his sword. "I've been expecting you."

"Expecting me?" Her mouth went dry. "You shouldn't even know I'm here. You can't see me, and I was much too quiet, much too careful," she argued.

He nonchalantly tore another strip on the ends of his hospital gown, and Annabeth glanced down, counting four. He must have been here a while, she inferred. "But that's entirely the reason you're here," he rejected her claim. "Because I knew you were coming, but you did not."

"So it's true?" Annabeth inquired. Thalia rolled her eyes, tightening her knuckles around the hilt of her spear. "You can see the future?"

"Of course. Why do you think they locked me in this place? For fun? I'm their little freak." He grinned and Annabeth's blood ran cold.

"Will you come with us?" she asked, fearless. Thalia cringed. "We, the Amazons, we offer you protection from all other forces in trade for your knowledge, in return for you not sharing your predictions with others," she promised.

Tiresias shook his head. "I can see the future; I don't need a protector."

Perhaps she hadn't thought through this quite as well as she thought. Refusing to be denied so easily, Annabeth glanced around the room for inspiration. "Well, you can't have been entirely untouchable if these people locked you up here," she reasoned. "Come with us. We'll save you."

Tiresias shook his head once more. "No, thanks. I knew they were coming for me. I let it happen. This place is safer than out there."

"This is torture," Annabeth argued.

"No," he said, and he smiled again. The certainty in his voice rubbed Annabeth the wrong way.

She tried another tactic. "Luke will be after you too, you know. He will try to kill you."

Tiresias offered a placid smile. "You think I do not know the moment I die? I do, I assure you, Miss Chase, and it will not be at the King's hands."

"How do we even know he's telling the truth?" Thalia voiced. Percy instinctively stepped closer to Thalia, taking her side.

"She makes a fair point," Percy noted, looking at Annabeth, but she just frowned.

"He knew my name."

"Everyone knows your name," Thalia shot back.

"He's blind," she tried again.

"Maybe another person nearby saw you," Percy reasoned.

The dread in Annabeth's stomach coiled. She didn't know how she knew, but something was telling her that this man was telling the truth, that he could indeed see past what they saw, could comprehend a future unimaginable to them.

"It's alright," Tiresias said. "You come to believe me."

Annabeth shuddered.

"Sometime around the time you discover the girl's apparent amnesia." He sounded smug and then he paused. "Chiron is a friend, is he not?"

Percy's hand slipped behind them, and she opened her palm, letting him take her hand in his. Now, she realized, _both_ of their hands were trembling.

"Yes. Is he still alive?" Percy inquired. Annabeth felt a lump in her throat and found she couldn't swallow it.

"Yes, but he is scheduled for execution by King Luke. Him and Kayla Knowles."

Annabeth felt sick. The next few moments passed by strangely, them asking their questions, and Tiresias answering before they could even finish each inquiry.

"Luke plans to announce their executions publically to set another trap for you both. They are being held at Atlantis Prison, just off the border of Thasite."

Percy made a sound in the back of his throat, and Annabeth had no doubt he recognized the name. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tiresias beat him to it, anticipating his statement beforehand.

"It isn't an abandoned place as you believe, Perseus, simply rebuilt for royal imprisonment."

Percy cringed at the use of his full name, clearly uncomfortable.

"But no, all that reconstruction isn't just for Chiron and Kayla. There are other dissenters within the cells, imprisoned for questioning the new King or crossing his mother when she was alive. And the monsters are proving to be just as difficult as the royals."

"Monsters?" exploded from Annabeth. Her eyes were wide as she cut off Tiresias, but he continued at rapid-fire.

"The ones you never ran into. They were taken to observe, to examine, but Chiron refused the study them. Even after… persuasion."

Bile rose in Annabeth's mouth. Persuasion could only mean torture.

"There are things much worse than pain, Miss Chase," Tiresias said softly. "They will be used as weapons, all of them, and they are at the mercy of Luke and his advisors." He glanced at Percy, who looked down. "And that is a very dark road, indeed. You cannot allow this to happen." He tore yet another strip down the white cotton. "It would be fatal."

"What happens if we free Chiron and the others?" She leaned forward. "Can you see that?"

If he was lying, she couldn't tell, and Annabeth was a master lie-detector. "No. I only see the current path, and however far it leads. For example, I see you now, surviving Luke's trap in two days, only to die in four days later. You waited too long to assault Atlantis. Oh wait, it's changed now that I've told you." Another strange, sad smile. "Hmm."

"This is nonsense," Percy growled, untangling his hand from hers. He stood up from against the wall. "People go crazy listening to predictions like yours, ruined by knowledge of an uncertain future."

"We have no proof but your word," Thalia chimed in. For once, she found herself in agreement with Percy, and it surprised them both. "And a few party tricks."

 _Party tricks._ Predicting what they were going to say, those were no such things. But it was easier to believe Tiresias was an impossibility. It was why everyone believed Luke's lies about her, and Percy too. They chose to trust what they understood, not what was necessarily true. Annabeth pressed her lips in a thin line. She would make them pay for their mistakes, but she would not be as foolish as them. Something about Tiresias rattled her, and instinct told her to have faith, not in the man, but his visions. What he said was true, though his reason for confessing might have been less than honorable.

"I see a flame swallowing man whole. A gilded cage for one. A proposal denied. A boy dying on a bed while others weep. A flower crushed by a fist. A storm with one lightning bolt that—"

Thalia beat a fist against the wall. "Enough!"

"I believe him." The words tasted strange.

She couldn't trust her own friends, but here she was, allying herself with a cursed stranger. Percy looked at her like she had grown a second head, his eyes screaming a question he dared not ask out loud. Annabeth could only shrug, and avoid the searing weight of his sea green eyes. _Buck up, Chase._ She tilted her chin up in defiance.

"Where is Atlantis Prison?"

"Annabeth—"

"You can drop me off on the way," she shot back at Percy, not bothering to watch the verbal blow land. "I'm not leaving them to become Luke's puppets. And I won't abandon Chiron, not again."

The lines on Tiresias' face deepen, speaking of many painful years. He was younger than she had imagined, hiding his youth beneath the grey hairs he'd gotten at only 15. How much had he seen, to make him this way? _Everything,_ she realized. _Every horrible or wonderful thing that could ever happen. Death, life, and everything in between._

"You're exactly who I thought you would be," he murmured, covering her hands with his own. They were surprisingly warm, bringing her much comfort. "I'm glad to have met you."

Annabeth offered a thin but obliging smile, the best she could do. "Where is the prison?"

"They won't let you go alone." Tiresias glanced over her shoulder, but it wasn't like he could see anything anyways. "But we both know that, don't we?"

A warm blush rose to her cheeks, and she had to nod.

Tiresias stood on wavering feet, still watching something they could not see. Then he sniffed. "Rain," he warned, seconds before a downpour slammed into the roof above them. "Pity you'll have to walk."

All of a sudden, Jason ran into the room. His face was ashen. "Ambush a little to the west of here," he announced, glancing at Tiresias uneasily.

Thalia adjusted her grip on her spear, glancing between Tiresias and her brother. "Was the little beast there?"

Jason nodded. "We lost about ten lives, and guards were, so King Luke couldn't have been too far."

Thalia cursed, but Annabeth didn't know who she was angrier at: Luke for ambushing their friends, or Tiresias for being right.

Jason let out a frustrated sigh as shouts rang through the empty hallway. "We've got to go, _now._ "

Annabeth turned for the door, but stopped when she realized Tiresias wasn't following.

"This is where I leave you."

She could only stare at him. "I thought you were going to help us at the prison." Desperation flooded into her voice, but Tiresias didn't seem to care, so she tried another tactic. "You know I can make you come with us."

Again, Tiresias smiled. "I know you can, and I know you won't. But take heart, Miss Chase. We will meet again." He tipped his head, thinking. "Yes, yes, we will."

It took all Annabeth had not to drag him behind her. "We need you, Tiresias!" She had one foot out the door already.

"Trust me when I say you don't! I leave you with these instructions—fly to the outskirts of Thasite, to Blue Lake."

 _Thasite, Blue Lake._ She repeated the words until they committed to memory.

"Not tomorrow, not tonight, but now. You _must_ fly now or your imprisoned friends are as good as dead. And tell Thalia, when she doubts. Tell her the answer to her question is _yes._ "

"What question?" But he ticked a finger, almost scolding.

"Attend to your own fate, Annabeth Chase."

"And that is?"

"To rise. And rise alone." It echoed like the howl of a wolf as the rain pounded louder above them both. "I see you as you could become, no longer the thought, but the entire brain. The brain that will swallow the world whole."

For a split second, it looked like his eyes were glowing, white against grey, burning through her, to look into every future. His lips curved into that maddening smile, letting his teeth gleam in the white light. And then she raced down the hallway and he was gone.

When Annabeth stomped aboard the jet alone, soaked to the bone, Percy had the good sense to let her simmer in her anger. Only despair drowned out her rage. Rise alone. _Alone._ She dug her nails into her palm, trying to chase the sadness with pain. Fate could always change.

Thalia was not as tactful as Percy. She looked up from bandaging Jason's leg, her fingers sticky with scarlet blood, and she sneered. "Good, we didn't need the loon anyways."

"That loon could've won this war outright." Jason cuffed her lightly on the shoulder, earning a dark glare. "Think of what he could do with his ability."

From the pilot's seat, Percy glowered. "He's done enough." He watched Annabeth take a seat next to him, seething all the while. "You really want to storm a secret prison built for people like us?"

"Would you rather let Chiron die?" There was no answer but for a low hiss. "That's what I thought."

…

Annabeth felt rude, but she couldn't, for the life of her, stop staring at the bloodied bandages wrapped around Calypso's wrists.

"I've noticed that," Percy said from the seat next to her. He was leaning against her, but she wasn't even sure he'd realized. "I just don't understand _why_ it's all white."

"Wouldn't a greater fear be all darkness?" Jason suggested, nodding at Percy.

Leo had taken over as pilot to give Percy a bit of a break. The plane shuddered underneath them, the dull hum of the engine fading into the background.

Annabeth pursed her lips. "I'd be inclined to agree," she mumbled, sitting forward in her chair.

Calypso shuddered as Thalia retrieved a blanket for her comrade. It _had_ been awfully cold in that hospital. She shook her head. "There's something about that hospital… it drives you up the walls."

"And now? How do you feel now?" Annabeth could feel everyone's eyes on hers.

Calypso slid her tongue over the flat of her teeth. She hesitated. "Uneasy."

The blonde's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"You're safe with us," Jason promised, but Annabeth didn't look at him, fully trained on Calypso.

Calypso offered a sad smile. "We're never really safe," she reasoned.

Percy shifted in his seat and it squeaked. Thalia ran her fingers through her hair. The bustle around them as people checked plans and Reyna barked orders was strangely comforting in their silence.

"In comparison to the hospital, how do you feel?" Annabeth amended. "Your cheeks are flushed, still, though I can't tell if that's from our escape and that adrenaline, or full-blown fear. Your pupils are dilated. I wonder…" she whispered the last part.

"Annabeth?" It was Piper. "What do you think?"

"Like I'm still there, but not really, but like a part of me will always be trapped there," Calypso admitted.

"I see." The blonde fell silent. She looked away then, allowing Michael Yew to finish his work, and addressed the crowd of people around them. "Yew." He glanced up at her. "Keep watching her for signs of PTSD over the next couple weeks. I wouldn't be surprised if Octavian played with her brain."

Percy winced at the mention of the disorder.

"You. What's your name?" She pointed to Calypso. The girl had only been missing for a few days so there wasn't a good chance, but still…

The girl looked at her strange. "Calypso."

Percy reached out for her, but she stood up, avoiding his touch, not now. He was much too distracting.

"What was the name of the person in the room next to you?"

Calypso blinked. "I never met them. I don't know."

Now Thalia sat up, quickly. Only two minutes prior had Calypso revealed her neighbor's name, and now she seemed to have no recollection of it. "What the hell?" the lieutenant barked out.

Annabeth grinned and it was so uncharacteristic that Piper seemed both concerned and frightened. She wasn't smiling because it was funny or to be taken lightly, but because she'd cracked the case.

"Octavian's clever," she breathed, pacing now, almost subconsciously. "White torture. _A type of psychological torture that includes extreme sensory deprivation and isolation. Carrying out this type of torture makes the detainee lose personal identity through long periods of isolation_ ," she recited. "It can include prolonged periods of solitary confinement, and the use of continual illumination to deprive sleep. Some countries in the Middle East have used it on political prisoners."

Piper blanched. Sure, everyone knew the capacity of her brain, but seeing it in action was another experience entirely.

"Iran," Percy recalled after a moment.

Annabeth clasped her hands together. "Indeed. Not authorized by the Iranian government, but used anyway." She turned to Thalia. "Get Calypso colorful clothes please, and perhaps some music. It shouldn't have any lasting impressions, but let's get her senses running again as best as we can. Show her pictures of her with family and friends." Thalia ran off to heed her orders.

She glanced at Calypso. "May I see your wrist?"

Calypso shrunk backwards. "I'd rather you not," she grit out.

"Why not?" Annabeth challenged. She glanced at Percy who'd told her all about the tattoo. She had to make sure it was real.

"They hurt," Calypso excused herself.

"I'll be gentle," Annabeth shot back, her eyes blazing. Calypso swallowed thickly. Annabeth reached for Calypso's hands and carefully turned them over, sure enough revealing the brand of Atlas. She inhaled sharply. "He's going after minorities," she told herself out loud.

The blonde bit her bottom lip, thinking back. Something about this seemed so familiar… and then it hit her.

" _It's alright," Tiresias said. "You come to believe me. Sometime around the time you discover the girl's apparent amnesia… Chiron is a friend, is he not?"_

The ex-Princess' entire face went stark white.

"Annabeth?" Percy's hand was on her shoulder.

The son of a bitch had been telling the truth. She'd known it! She'd known he wasn't a liar, no matter how unhonorable his intentions might have been. Annabeth faced the group of people. "Escort her out, please, Gwen." Gwen took Calypso away, and then she collected her thoughts.

"We have to storm Atlantis prison."

Thalia had returned now. "That idiot liar?" she seethed. "No. This is ridiculous."

Annabeth glared daggers. " _Sometime around the time you discover the girl's apparent amnesia_ ," she recited word-for-word, and when Thalia's face went white as well, she knew she'd figured it all out. "We save Chiron, Kayla, whoever else, we expand our army and win our wars." Her face was grim.

"And the hospital? What about others like Calypso, locked up to be tortured?" Piper asked, desperately searching for something she recognized in her friend's face. Her face fell in resignation.

"We will return," Annabeth promised, and she surprised even herself with the strength behind her voice. "I need to Octavian a few questions. But first, I need to find something in my archives, so let's just take this one step at a time."

"You're sure about this?" Thalia inquired one last time, hesitant.

Annabeth balled her fists by her sides. "I'm sure."

…

When Percy rose from the ground, a slightly dazed expression on his face, she couldn't help but see him like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

"Percy!"

He held up his hand, as if to reassure her. She refrained from tackling him in a hug.

"That was so stupid!" she chastised, and he winced when she touched his bloody cheek.

"But effective," he pointed out. The chaos outside was not lost on them, but as soon as she stepped into the now unlocked prison gates, it felt like she'd entered an alternate reality.

She offered a shy smile at him, and then running down the hallways, they popped the locks off all the cells. She recognized royals, and though many were not friends of her parents or Percy's, they had a new expression of wisdom etched across their faces, engraved for eternity. They would fight for them, the Amazons, the Canadians, and the banished, stronger as a whole than as small parts.

And at the very end in a small cage on the left were Chiron and Kayla, just as Tiresias had promised. Annabeth had never liked counting her chickens before they hatched, but for now, she allowed herself a small grin of triumph, of victory, and everything beautiful in between.

"Chiron!" she gasped, pulling the frail man into her embrace. Her old instructor and friend looked down at her with warm, brown eyes. He eyed his nephew and when both of them were standing next to each other, Annabeth could easily detect the resemblance between both men at the corners of their smiles. "And Kayla," Annabeth acknowledged, and even if she wasn't the touchy-feely type, she hugged Kayla tight, too. They were a sight for sore eyes.

"Easy, child. The battle's not won yet." But Chiron's eyes twinkled.

"There's so many of them!" Thalia exclaimed, quickly approaching them from behind. She was frowning.

"Who?" Annabeth's expression pinched down.

"Guards," the dark-haired girl panted. She shared a look with Percy.

Annabeth's skin crawled. "You mean…?"

"Luke's sent reinforcements. If it's a battle they want, we could probably win. But we'll lose too many numbers; our best bet is to get the hell out of here," Thalia explained.

"It'll take some time to board the plane," Annabeth stressed, eyes blown wide.

"Some of us can cover your back if you can get as many people onto the plane as possible. Then we pray for the best and escape," Percy suggested, level headed. "Take Chiron and Kayla with you," he said, ushering his uncle and Kayla to Thalia.

Thalia glanced around. "Fine. But hurry, and be careful." She looked at Annabeth pointedly, and trying to move both Chiron and Kayla as quickly as she could despite their largely unused legs (the prisons had been ridiculously confining), she disappeared behind the corner.

…

"Fuck." Annabeth stumbled, Percy shoving her out of harm's way. How he saw the swing of a sword before an opponent actually swung was beyond her. "There's too many of them," she breathed, her eyes blown wide with panic. "Thalia and them will never make it in time!"

Percy swung his sword in a large arc, the sheer force of the blow forcing two men, dressed from head to toe in an inky blue cloth, toppling over. Two feet down from Artemis, a few other guards crumpled, but as many as they knocked out and killed, more seemed to appear in large, dark masses just over the hill. And among them were royals too, Luke's loyal allies. She gritted her teeth so hard that it hut.

"You're only as in control as you want to be," he refused, shaking his head at her. Annabeth spun, kicking her heavy boots into another guard's chest. She tried to avoid looking at their eyes.

"That's bullshit," she angrily spat.

"But you've got to believe that it's not," he instructed, and she looked away as he cleanly thrust his sword into a tall man's abdomen.

"What happened to your pessimism?" she cried over the chaos.

"War has no place for pessimists," he spit and blood came out. The side of his face was tender and bruising. "Besides, I thought you liked converting me to your optimistic dreams." He chuckled darkly, and it frightened her more than she would've liked to admit. Percy laughing while fighting was a sight she wished not to behold.

"Dreams come true," she whispered, her voice wavering with newfound uncertainty.

He shot her a half-smile, but it was melancholy. "You forget nightmares are dreams too."

Her features pinched downwards and she schooled her expression, glancing back at the plane. Almost everyone was boarded, and… Thalia looked up as if she sensed the blonde's eyes on her figure. She shrugged half-heartedly.

"Are we clear?" Annabeth shouted over the madness. She struck her dagger down the center of a guard's face like a meat cleaver.

"What?"

"Clear?! Clear it!" she demanded.

"Get everyone together!" Thalia instructed furiously, cupping her hands around her mouth to reach Annabeth's ears. Her heart began beating wildly in her chest.

"Percy." She ran to him like the devil was hot on her trail. "Percy," she reached for him, but he slid under her fingers, avoiding the enemy. She stood back to back with him, fighting off Luke's troops together. "Thalia cleared it. We need to get everyone and get the hell out of here!"

He steadied himself on a rock, using it as momentum to kick off and knock another out flat. "Get everyone out first. I can hold my own for a bit."

Her eyes hardened. "You'll die. Let's go, Percy."

He stubbornly shook his head. "Others will die on their own first. I can hold my own for a bit, just hurry."

She glared at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Piper scramble onto the plane. "C'mon, everyone's fleeing." And forcefully dragging him as best as she could, she persuaded him to leave, though she suspected he'd let her pull him a bit. He was much too heavy for her to pull on her own, especially if he'd truly resisted. "Go start the plane. I don't know where Leo is." Percy's mouth was set in a straight line, but now he frowned.

Annabeth scoured the battlefield. There were enough dead from both sides that she felt a little sick, but _no._ Tiresias had promised it would be worth it, that they would earn enough soldiers in return from setting prisoners free, that they would save Chiron and Kayla. It _had_ to be worth it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jason, and relief settled over her.

"Jason, get him to the jet," she yelled, grabbing Percy by the collar as they ran. Before he could protest, Jason did as instructed, shoving Percy onto the plane and into the arms of Thalia. Annabeth could always count on Jason to understand; Percy was one of their only two pilots. He could not die there, not when they were so close to getting away. They needed him to fly, and fly well. A split second later, Jason returned, and ushered Reyna into the jet also. Annabeth breathed another sigh of relief. Reyna was a General and like Percy, she too was invaluable.

Annabeth called on everything she had left, down to the depth of her bones. It made her slow, it made her weak, taking her will, and turning it into something strong. To her delight, a ring of guards, and a Raya cousin fell dead at her feet.

Rachel stopped next to her, her rifle tucked against her shoulder. She shot with precision, picking off their pursuers one by one. Many men stepped in front of Luke's generals, whether by their own volition or his. Luke was sure to be here, somewhere, and soon he would be within range of her, and her of him. Annabeth had only one chance.

It happened in slow motion. She glanced at the two royals locked in battle between her and the plane. A long, thin blade, like a giant needle, cut through an Amazon's neck, spilling a red fountain. Behind, was a flash of white, and Annabeth's eyes blazed in anger, immediately recognizing the culprit. Octavian spun with the momentum, directing through the Amazon, at her. Annabeth moved to duck, expecting what she thought was the worst.

She couldn't possibly see what was coming.

Only one person could've. _Tiresias._ He walked away from all of this. He had let this happen. He didn't want to warn them. He hadn't cared.

Jason appeared in front of her, intending to take her away from all of this. Instead, he got a cruel, gleaming needle through his heart. He didn't realize what had happened. He didn't feel any pain. He died before his knees hit the ground.

Annabeth didn't remember anything else until they were in the air. Her face ran with tears but she couldn't wipe them away. She could only stare at her hands, painted in blood and tears of regret, and wonder what would've happened if it'd been her who'd died instead.


	20. Accidental Demon Summoning and Gay Porn

**Annabeth**

Percy pilotted a massive cargo jet, built to carry heavy transports or machinery. Now the cargo bay held over three hundred escaped prisoners, many injured, all shell-shocked. Most were regular people, but there were also royals among them, keeping to themselves, biding their time. For today at least, they all looked the same, cloaked in rags, exhaustion, and hunger.

Annabeth didn't want to go down to them, so she stuck to the upper level of the jet. At least it was quiet in this section, separated from the bay by a narrow stairwell, and from the cockpit by a closed door.

She couldn't make herself move past the two bodies at her feet. One lay beneath a white sheet, stained only by the blossom of red blood over his pierced heart. Thalia knelt over him, frozen, a hand under the sheet to clutch Jason's cold, dead fingers. The other corpse Annabeth refused to cover. Medusa looked ugly in death, and her mouth was pulled into a sneer even she couldn't muster while alive.

"You should go lie down."

The body unsettled Rachel, that much was clear. Annabeth didn't know why. They should've been dancing on her bones. "Let Kayla check you out."

"Tell Percy to change course."

She blinked at the ex-Princess, perplexed. "Change course? What are you talking about? We're going back to the base, back home—"

Home. Annabeth scoffed at such a childish word. "We're going to hover over Epresh for a bit. Tell him, please."

"Annabeth."

"Please."

She didn't move. "Have you gone crazy? Do you remember what happened back there, what Malcolm will have to do to you if you return?"

Crazy. Annabeth wished. She wished her mind would snap from the torture her life had become. That would be such a relief, to simply go mad. "He can certainly try. But we won't be there long, and when he sees what I bring him, I doubt he'll threaten us this time." _And he's my brother; I miss him; he can take this body, this burden from me; he can help, even if only barely. He can examine the body, use it as a weapon against House Calbourne and Luke better than we ever could._

"The body?" Rachel breathed, visibly shaking. _It's not the corpse scaring her,_ Annabeth realized. _It's me._ "You're going to show him the body?"

"I'm going to give it to him." Again, firmer. "Tell Percy to change course. _He_ will understand."

The jab stung Rachel, but Annabeth didn't care. The redhead hardened, drawing back to do as she had told her. The cockpit door shut behind her, but Annabeth barely noticed. She was preoccupied with more important things than petty insults. How could Jason be dead? And he was not the only one. No, there were certainly others left to make the prison their tomb. They would only know when they landed, and could see who else escaped on the plane.

"Did your seer tell you about this?"

The first words Thalia had spoken since they left Blue Lake. She hadn't wept yet, not like Piper who had excused herself to another part of the plane a while ago, but her voice sounded hoarse, as if she'd spent the last few days screaming. Her eyes were horrible, ringed with red, the irises a vivid blue.

"That fool, Tiresias, who told us to do this?" she continued, turning to face Annabeth. "Did he tell you Jason would die? Did he? I suppose that was an easy price for little Annie to pay, so long as it meant more soldiers for you to control. More soldiers in a war you have no idea how to fight. One measly best friend of yours for more followers to kiss your feet. Not a bad trade, was it? Especially with the Queen thrown in. You may have killed her earlier, but she was all part of this. Who cares about a dead man no one knows, when you could have her corpse?"

Annabeth's slap sent her back a step, more in surprise than pain. Thalia caught the sheet as she fell, pulling it sideways, revealing Jason's pale face. At least his eyes were closed. He could've been only sleeping. Annabeth moved to tug the sheet back into place—she couldn't look at him long—but Thalia hit her with her shoulder, using her considerable strength to drive her into the wall.

The cockpit door banged open, and the two people rushed out, drawn by the noise. In an instant, Percy took Thalia down, tapping the back of her knee so she stumbled. Rachel was less fancy, simply wrapping both his arms around Annabeth, hoisting her clean off the ground.

"He was my brother in all but blood!" Annabeth yelled at her. "He was my best friend!"

Thalia screamed her response. "He was far more than that!"

Her words triggered a memory.

When she doubts. Tiresias told Annabeth to tell Thalia something. When she doubts. And Thalia certainly doubted now.

"Tiresias did tell me something," the blonde said, trying to push off Rachel. "Something for you to hear."

Thalia lunged, reaching, and Percy pushed her back down again. He got an elbow to the face for the trouble, but he didn't relinquish his firm hold on her shoulders. She wasn't going anywhere, yet she continued to struggle. _Thalia, you never know when to quit. I used to admire you for it. Now I only pity you._

"He told me the answer to your question."

It stopped her short, her breath coming in tiny, frightened puffs. Thalia stared, wide-eyed. Annabeth could almost hear her heart beating.

"He said yes."

Annabeth didn't know what that meant, but it leveled her. Thalia slumped, falling on her hands, and bowed her head. The blonde could see the tears anyways. She wasn't going to fight anymore.

Percy knew it too, and backed away from her shaking form. He almost tripped on Medusa's deformed arm, and shied away from it, flinching. "Give her space," he murmured, and seized Annabeth by the arm in a bruising grip. He all but dragged the ex-Princess away, despite her protests.

Annabeth didn't want to leave her. Not Thalia, but Medusa. Despite her wounds, her burns, and her glassy eyes, she didn't trust her corpse to stay dead. A foolish worry, but she felt it all the same.

"What's the matter with you?" he snarled, slamming the cockpit door behind them, shutting out Thalia's low sobs and Rachel's scowl.

"You know what Jason was to her—"

"You know what he was to me too," Annabeth replied. Being civil wasn't at the top of her list, but she tried. Her voice wavered anyway. Her closest friend. She lost him before, when she left Epresh, and now again. This time he wasn't coming back. There was no coming back. "You don't see me screaming at people."

"You're right. You just kill them."

Breath hissed between her teeth. Is that what this was about? She almost laughed at him. "At least one of us can."

Annabeth expected a screaming match at the very least. What she got was worse. Percy took a step back, bumping against the instrument panel, trying to put as much distance as he could between them. Something broke behind his eyes, betraying the wounds he hid beneath his cool skin.

"What happened to you, Annabeth?" he whispered.

 _What hasn't happened to me? A single day without worry, that's what. All to prepare me for this, for the fate I bought myself with my foolishness and the many mistakes I've chosen to make, Percy included._ "My family just died, Percy."

But he shook his head, never looking away from her. His gaze burned. "You killed so many, some while they begged, some during this battle, some in Thasite, some even before that. Jason wasn't dead then. Don't blame this on him."

"They were royal—"

"I am royal. And so are you."

"I am an Amazon, first and foremost. Don't act like you haven't killed hundreds of us." She could still remember the way Reyna had been tortured by _his_ hand.

"Not for me, not the way you kill. I was a soldier following orders, obeying my father, obeying my King. And they were just as innocent as I was when my father was alive."

Tears pricked at her eyes, begging to be spilled. Faces swam before her, murdered soldiers and officers, too many to count. "Why are you saying this to me?" she whispered. "I did what I had to, to stay alive, to save people—to save you, you stupid, stubborn Prince of nothing. You of all people should know the burden I carry. How dare you try to make me feel guiltier than I already do?"

"She wanted to turn you into a monster." He nodded toward the door, and the twisted body behind it. "I'm just trying to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Medusa is dead." The words tasted sweet as wine. She was gone, and she couldn't hurt her. "She can't control anyone anymore."

"But still, you feel no remorse for the dead. You do whatever you can to forget them. You abandoned your family without a word, and the Pevanshires after you killed their daughter. You can't control yourself. Half the time you run away from leadership, and the other half you act like some untouchable martyr, crowned in guilt, the only person who's really giving herself to the cause. Look around you, Annabeth Chase. Jason's not the only one who died at Blue Lake. You are not the only one to make sacrifices. Reyna left her life behind, Rachel betrayed her father. You forced Calypso to talk, even when she was suffering. And sure, you figured it out, white torture, but at what cost? Torturing those who have already paid enough? And now you want to abandon people back at the base. For what? To step on the Rayas' necks? To take a throne? To show Malcolm and your mother that you're more than they could have ever imagined? To kill anyone who looks at you the wrong way?"

Annabeth felt like a child being scolded, unable to speak, to argue, to do anything but keep from crying.

"And you still hold on to Luke, a person who doesn't exist."

He might as well have put a hand around her throat and squeezed. "You looked through my things?"

"I'm not blind. I watched you take the notes off the bodies. I thought you'd rip them up. But when you didn't—I suppose I wanted to see what you were going to do with them. Burn them, throw them away, send them dipped back in royal blood—but not keep them. Not read them while I slept next to you."

"You said you missed him too. You said so," she whispered. Annabeth had to refrain from stamping her foot like a frustrated child.

"He's my brother. I miss him in a _very_ different way."

Something sharp scraped her wrist, and Annabeth realized she was scratching herself in misery, creating a physical pain to mask the agony inside. Percy watched, conflicted.

"Every single thing I did, you stood behind me," she said. "If I'm turning into a monster, then so are you."

He dropped his gaze. "Love blinds."

"If this is your idea of love—"

"I don't know if you love anyone at all," he snapped, "if you see anything out there but tools and weapons. People to manipulate and control, to sacrifice."

There was no possible defense to such an accusation. How could she prove him wrong? How could she make him see what she had done, what she was trying to do, what she had become to keep everyone she cared about safe! How badly she'd failed. How terrible she felt. How the scars and memories ached. How deeply he'd wounded her with such words. Annabeth could not prove her love for him, or Piper, or her family, Jason included. She could not put such feelings into words, nor should she have had to.

So she didn't.

"After the bombing, Reyna and the Amazons used a royal broadcast to claim responsibility." She spoke slowly, methodical and calm in her explanation. It was the only thing keeping her sane. "I've already started in Thasite, but I'm going to continue to do the same now, with the Queen's body. I'm going to show every single person in every single damn kingdom the woman Piper killed, and the people she kept locked up, both citizens and royals. I am finished letting Luke control this game by spouting his lies to his kingdom. What we've done isn't enough to bring him down. We need to let the country do it for us."

Percy's mouth gaped open. "Civil war?"

"House against house, royal against royal. Only Amazons and Canadians will stand united. And we will win because of it. Thasite with fall, Epresh, too, Sumisu, Kreoca, Jirot, and Baca, and we will ascend for gold and glory." A simple, costly, lethal plan on both sides. But it was a step that had to take. They forced them down this road a long time ago. She was only doing what must be done.

"We will return to the base after I stop in Epresh for barely two hours. But I need Malcolm, and I need his resources to get this in motion. Do you understand that?"

He barely nodded.

"And after, well, I will go North, to Jirot, to Nico and the royals and family I've so willingly abandoned. We have business to discuss. You can do as you like, Your Highness."

"Annabeth." He grazed her arm and she flinched away, almost hitting the wall.

"Don't touch me anymore."

The words sounded like a slamming door. She supposed they were.

…

Epresh was quiet and disgustingly bright. No clouds, no wind, just summer sunlight. Jason shouldn't have died on such a beautiful day, but he did.

Too many did.

Annabeth was the first to step down from the cargo plane, with two covered stretchers close behind. Piper and Thalia hover by one, each of them resting a hand on Jason—they would bury him here in his hometown. But the other stretcher was what Annabeth cared about now. The men holding her up seemed afraid of her body, just like she was. The last few hours of quiet reflection, staring at Medusa's cold corpse, had been a strange comfort. She was not going to wake up. Just like Percy would never speak to her again, not after everything they said to each other. She didn't know where he was in the line, or if he was even coming down at all. Most weren't, staying in the plane until she finished her business with her brother. Annabeth told herself not to worry. Thinking about him was a waste.

Quietly, she cursed herself. Her family would be back here, and without a father and husband.

 _You don't care about your family._ Maybe Percy was right because she certainly forgot them more than any sane person should've.

She went alone, and this time, even Piper didn't object, drowned in her own grief. Perhaps it was time she paid her mother a visit as well. She only had until Jason's funeral was over—which she couldn't bear to watch—to convince her brother to take Medusa's body off her hands and talk her mother into dropping all these wars and living the educational life she'd always dreamt of. Steeling herself for trouble, she knocked on the tall gate doors of the Ashington Castle, her own guards at the sides of the doors spotting her in thinly concealed horror.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"I thought I told you not to come back here." Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You're lucky those guards didn't shoot you on sight.

She was seated at the long dining table across from her mother, and a few seats down from Malcolm. They were dressed in the colors of mourning.

Annabeth waved away his warning. "They wouldn't have had the guts to."

"And what if we'd ordered them to kill on sight?" Malcolm was clearly exasperated.

"We both know you paid them off because you knew I'd be back." She shrugged, and Malcolm scowled.

"Still. That was highly irresponsible and ridiculously reckless," he chastised.

"Don't lecture me." Annabeth turned to face their mother instead. "Don't worry, I'll be gone soon."

Athena was pale and quiet, but Annabeth couldn't find it within herself to have sympathy for her mother. She'd seen the woman methodically execute her enemies. If anything, Annabeth had better sense to fear the Queen. Athena didn't say anything in response.

"What? No words of _wisdom_ for me? Nothing to chide? No snarky commentary? Did Frederick really take that much from you?" Annabeth snipped at her mother. She knew she was being mean. She _felt_ mean, but why should she have been nice when the world had been so mean to her? " _Stupid girl, making promises to monsters_ ," she mimicked, practically able to guess her mother's words before she could even open her mouth.

Now Malcolm glared at her, his mouth turned down sharp. "You come into our home and you insult the very ground we stand on," he muttered, frowning. "Her husband just _died_ , Annabeth. Shut your mouth."

"He died nearly a week ago. And he wasn't the only one to die."

"They were married for many decades."

"I don't care. He was an asshole to me, and he was an asshole to Mother, too. But you all excuse it because he was at the top of our chain, because we couldn't have it any other way, and now that he's gone, you know what I say? I say _good riddance._ " Annabeth's chest heaved, and it wasn't until that moment that she realized she was standing now, towering over the table, her anger rocketing.

Athena choked.

" _Annabeth_." Malcolm was horrified, his mouth hanging open.

"What is _wrong_ with both of you? You don't need to dance on his grave, but you can at least recognize that your lives are a little better now."

She threw her hands up in exasperation at Athena's blank, pained expression.

" _Her_ father _gave_ us this kingdom." Annabeth pointed to Athena. "It's from _her_ side of the family, Malcolm, that we get this royal lineage. It was only ever because of her! And she might not like me, and that's okay, but you both need to quit your moping and realize that this—this misogyny has _robbed_ our family of our roots, just as it has done to so many others! Father married into this family, and yet he had more power, yet he acted like he owned the place when Mother was always ten times smarter." Annabeth slammed her palms against the glossy, silver table.

"Annabeth, slow down…" her brother trailed off.

"I don't give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks! Listen to me, _both of you_ ," she demanded. "You don't fucking need him." She twisted her fingers around the front collar of Malcolm's shirt. "You're both sitting around here, dressed in the disgusting colors of the dead when he didn't even care about us! He cared about you, and you alone Malcolm. His wife was only another thing for him to have power over! His council was another group of old men for him to push around!"

"He loved you," Malcolm's voice cracked. "He loved you _so_ much."

"If he did, which he didn't, he had a funny way of showing it." Annabeth paced, then. "Mother. _Mom."_

Athena's head snapped up.

"You wanted to travel the world. You wanted to read _everything_. You wanted to learn all you can before you died. Father's _dead,_ Mom. He's gone." It felt weird to refer to the Queen by something as informal as 'Mom.' "You're free now. You are not beholden to this cold castle and this life that means nothing to you."

"Annabeth—"

"—you're not King yet!" she snapped, turning on him. Her eyes blazed, livid. Malcolm flinched back.

"Get out of here, Mother. What are you doing here? Get away from these shitty wars that you could've single-handedly ended months back if Frederick had let you do anything. Get away from this land you never wanted. Get away from this life you never deserved!"

"Annabeth, _stop_ —"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Malcolm!" she screamed, overtaken by this overwhelming need to chuck something at him. Maybe then he would shut his mouth.

"I will not! I will not let you do this, planting ideas in her head when she's _heartbroken._ What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Everything! EVERYTHING IS WRONG WITH ME! Okay?!" Annabeth raised her arms wildly. "I'm a fucked-up bitch, and I got played as many times as I played others, and I'm sorry you're embarrassed, and I'm sorry I let down our Mother and our family name, but I have yet to finish, so sit your ass down and shut your mouth before I _make_ you."

Malcolm fell down into his seat, his mouth parted in a small 'o.'

"Annabeth, you didn't let me down." It was the first thing Athena had said all hour. The Queen cleared her throat. "Quite the opposite, actually. You took out enemies in this war, and though they were your own, some were ours, too. You've done well for yourself."

It was as close as Athena would ever get to saying she was proud of her daughter and Annabeth found comfort in it. "So you'll leave?" she whispered, quieting. She, too, sat down. "You'll leave this hell behind and go find your infinity?"

Athena tilted her head to one side, and Annabeth was shocked that her mother hadn't shot down the idea immediately, and was actually considering it. "Malcolm will need help. He'll be King."

"Will he?" Annabeth posed the question, turning to her brother now. "You're not bound to this life, either. You can come _with_ me, Malcolm. Leave this Kingdom to burn or build on its own. Allow the Canadians to keep this property since we're so close to the border anyways and lead your own life."

"I—I can't do that," he denied, shaking his head at her, pity in his eyes.

"Yes, you can. You can join the Amazons and Canadians, or you look over this property as a representative of the democratic council in Canada. You can be so much more than this. Or at least stop _fighting_ us. Fight the twisted Calbournes and Rayas, and convince the Pevanshires to fall back against Amazons with you. We won't hurt you if you surrender."

"Surrender? You guys will kick us out of royalty. The Pevanshires won't stand for that, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't be too sure. Hades has always been better than Tristan, Frederick, _and_ Poseidon. Nico's a tougher case to crack."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because you all _killed_ his sister. I won't do it, Annabeth. Unless…" now he hesitated, and Annabeth felt herself holding her breath. This 'unless' was new. Malcolm would've never doubted this decision, not before. "Unless Nico agrees. If he's in, so am I." His eyes flitted to the ground. "I'll become a democratic representative of Epresh instead, and if Nico agrees, then I'm okay with that. I was never really suited to sit under lights my entire day, anyways. Anyone's eyes should've been on you."

Annabeth trembled. "Are you true?" _Are you lying?_

"I am."

"Then I'm going to talk to Nico first thing tomorrow morning. You could save so many, Malcolm. I'm—I'm proud of you." She used her index finger to tip his face up to her. She looked into his grey eyes, a mirror of her own soul, one that hid all her bad, and kept all that was good.

He just sighed. "Good luck. He was coronated four days ago."

"Excuse me?" Annabeth blanched. This was news to her.

"It was a small coronation to honor the two Kings who died," Malcolm informed her.

"Oh."

"He's scheduled to be engaged tomorrow, so you'll have to hurry."

Annabeth's eyebrows furrowed. "Engaged? To whom?"

"Princess Kane from England."

"England? Engaged? He's being betrothed a good two years before most of us!" she protested.

"Not our choice." Malcolm shrugged. "Or Hades'. All you've got to do is get him on your side, and I am too," he reminded her. Annabeth swallowed hard; she had her work cut out for her, indeed. There was no way she would make it before he was officially engaged, so she could only hope he wasn't attached to this mysterious Kane, and that she could successfully change his mind.

"Mother?" She faced Athena now, who looked at Malcolm. Malcolm offered a reassuring smile.

Slowly the Queen nodded, sitting straighter in her chair.

A slow smile spread across Annabeth's face. Change was coming, and it was gold. "Great. Medusa's body is in the foyer; I was too lazy to drag it all the way here. She's got one hell of an expression, perfect for broadcasting. I'll send a letter soon with updates. Pleasure doing business with you."

Malcolm's eyes widened in surprise and in disgust. "That's—she's—I don't want a dead body—Annabeth!"

But she had already walked away, disappearing as fast as she had come.

* * *

**Nico**

Nico let out a sigh of submission as Will peppered butterfly kisses down his jaw. Each one felt like a drop of sunlight spreading across his face and cracking into the dark, plastic casing around his heart.

"Who knew all it took to calm down the Ghost King was a kiss?" Will joked, and Nico rolled his eyes. "My bad: I shouldn't forget who I'm talking to. Wouldn't want Your Highness to strike me down." Ever since his coronation, Will had been more of a pain in the ass than usual.

"You're ridiculous."

Will kissed him soundly, shutting up Nico's protests. It felt like he was in an affair, considering that his soon-to-be bride would be arriving just the next day, but _no_ because Nico didn't want to marry her anyways and he wanted to just flop around with Will and listen to his irritating blond talk about his dumb plants and watch as that stupid smile spread across his face. Screw that stupid Princess. He didn't even want to meet her.

Infuriated by the reminder, Nico jerked Will down by the front of his shirt and kissed him roughly so that his lips would be engraved in his, so that he would be all he could taste for years to come. The door rattled on his right. Breathlessly, he pulled away from Will, whose cheeks were flushed a dark pink. The handle made some sounds, but he wasn't worried. He'd locked it earlier.

"One moment," Nico called out, gazing at Will. He pressed his mouth against the other boy once more, and then before he could unlock the door or _anything_ , the door burst open.

Nico seized up in terror, clutching his sheets out of a reflex. Will shot up in the bed, his hair sticking every which way, his blue eyes wide.

In the doorway stood a blonde he recognized in less than a second. And she was holding a bobby pin. His heart pounded even harder. This could be a moment of life or death, they could kill him for this sin. And even more, she wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to talk to him anymore or look at him or come to his castle; she wasn't even affiliated with them anymore.

The ex-Princess cursed. She looked at Will, her cheeks flushing as well, and then back to Nico before hastily shutting the door again.

Will, stunned, turned to Nico slowly. "Was that…?"

Nico shushed him, holding his finger to the older boy's lips. He sprung into action, nearly falling over as he shimmied into his royal uniform once more. He jumped towards the door, smoothing down his dark hair with one hand, and swung it open to reveal the embarrassed blonde who'd walked in on them only two seconds earlier. She sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck, her cheeks stained a red to rival the one the boy in his bed was probably wearing.

"Annabeth Chase," the Pevanshire acknowledged. "Come in," he instructed, and taking a deep breath, she did.

…

The three of them sat in awkward silence for a minute or two. She stared at both Nico and Will, but Nico couldn't quite detect the expression on her face. He'd never been able to read those pesky Ashingtons that well.

"Look," Nico began, the tips of his ears burning with color, "I—"

But Annabeth held up her hand, cutting him off. "It's no big deal, Nico. You're only a year younger than me. I'd expect nothing less." She was curt, and he was sure she didn't want to talk about this, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting to explain.

"But it was probably quite a shock for you, and even though it's _your_ fault for barging in—"

"—I didn't want your guards to catch me," she interrupted, but he ignored it.

"—I just feel like I'm obligated to _explain_ , and—"

"Nico, stop," she demanded, and he did. He nervously fiddled with the corner of his jacket. "You don't owe me anything. I'm sorry I caught you off guard."

"But—you're not angry? Confused?" Nico licked his lips, hesitant.

She shook her head. "The world has bigger problems than boys who kiss boys." She gave him a look that both made even his bones tremble in relief and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Thank you," he whispered, but he stopped himself when he saw the look on her face. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "What's wrong?" She didn't say anything. "Annabeth, why are you here?" He was dimly aware of Will leaning back against the headboard.

"I'm here to ask you to leave this behind."

Nico blanched. "Excuse me?"

"I heard of your coronation," she whispered, shaking her head to herself. "And I also heard about your engagement."

Nico's face darkened. It was still a touchy subject, and Will tensed next to him.

"Given your current…" Annabeth gestured vaguely to the both of them, "I can guess that you're not exactly happy about the predicament. I have an offer for you."

"I'm listening."

"Come with me," Annabeth breathed. "Leave behind this cold life of royalty, take this healer with you if you'd like, leave behind the engagement, leave behind your throne for your father to claim once again, leave behind this castle of ghosts."

"Bianca's buried here," Nico pointed out, his features pinching downward. "I won't leave her. Not for forever."

"Then do what I asked of Malcolm," she requested, and Nico's pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Take part on the democratic council and preserve this land with the Canadians. Don't let this home die, but don't fight us, the Amazons, and the Canadians. Fight one less war, fight only against the Calbournes and the Rayas, and join me. Leave behind a life you're not happy with, leave behind responsibilities, and fight with us instead of against us. It's not like you're particularly passionate about the monarchy anyways. Be on the winning side," she persuaded.

Nico blinked. He wasn't even sure what to do with that. That was… that was a lot.

"I wish you'd asked two weeks earlier," he whispered. If he hadn't been King, he would've left, no questions asked. Persephone and Hades would protect Bianca's grave, he could escape this life not worth living, and maybe Bianca would've been smiling down on him from the Heavens above, proud of him for living his own life and not becoming a minion of these tight rules. But then he remembered, and his full rage came back.

"Wait… it's true, then? You really joined the Amazons?" His eyebrows furrowed together, his temper quickly shooting up at the reminder of his sister.

Annabeth soberly nodded.

"I take it back. I would love to give this kingdom up to _good_ hands, not the filthy hands that put my sister in her grave in the first place!"

Will's hand was on his shoulder in an instant, comforting the King.

"I can't believe you, Annabeth! You were always so good, you and your brother. You joined Bianca's murderers. Have you lost it entirely?" And had there been a lapse in his judgement? How could he forget, even momentarily, that Chase was associated with those bloodthirsty beasts now?

"About that, Nico." Her voice wavered, and Nico squeezed his eyes shut. This was going to be bad.

"What?" he growled.

"Bianca's death wasn't entirely the Amazons' fault."

"Oh, really?" he asked, a dry tone creeping into his voice. He glared at her and she flinched.

"They asked me," she whispered, her voice shaky. "They asked me to pick targets, but I couldn't, so Luke did. But I let it happen. She wouldn't have died. But Luke set off a bomb that night, and she died. And I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear! But she was bleeding all over me, and I had a concussion, and her death has haunted me to this day!"

This was so much worse than he'd anticipated.

"You mean to tell me it was _your_ power-hungry greed that is partially responsible for my sister's death?" He could hear his breathing in his ears, and before Will could hold him back, he shoved her. Not hard, not so much that it hurt her, but Annabeth fell to the ground anyways. He wanted to murder her, he wanted to have her bleed like Bianca had, he wanted it _all_ , but Will had screamed out his name in surprise, and Annabeth had this guilty face etched on, so he stopped himself.

"The answer is no, and it will always be no. I should kill you now, but I'll let you go. Never come back here again." He pointed a skinny, white finger towards his door.

Annabeth tried again. "Nico, please—"

"No, Annabeth! I will not help your cause, I will not help you take more family away from me or anyone else. Get. Out."

Will scrambled to his feet, reaching out for his lover, but Nico roughly escaped his hold.

Annabeth flared up again. "But Nico, you can't live like this!"

"Do not mistake me for _you_ ," he spat, glaring at her with icy eyes.

She staggered back, her mouth parting in surprise, but then she surprised him instead. Annabeth slumped forward in resignation. "You're right."

Nico hesitated, unsure of where to tread from there. Will had froze next to him, too.

"I know it's long overdue, but… but I'm sorry. For everything." She spread her arms, helplessly, and shrugged. "I know it doesn't even begin to cover everything, but it's something I should've done a while ago. I'm not very good at this sort of thing, but I'm trying, and you know all about that, being sorry and having no words to say something when you know you should but you just can't." The corner of her mouth curved up, but it was humorless.

Nico felt these weights pressing on his chest. How many times had he been where she was, standing in front of somebody, unable to tell them how much they meant?

"I'm not perfect, far from it, and I make mistakes, and I hurt people," she said, gesturing to him. "But when I say sorry, I mean it. I can't really make up for it, though I'd offer," Annabeth pointed out, "but I just…" she trailed off. "I need you a lot more than you need me right now, and in the faith of total transparency, I'll explain." Quietly, she began to explain her conversation with Malcolm and Athena.

Nico watched as she flexed her fingers, using her hands to tell a story in itself. He watched as she warmed at the peak of her plan, and as she stiffened at the criticism. He watched as she pointed out of his window where, sure enough, she'd left an assortment of carnations on the grave. He watched as her hand trembled at the mention of Jason. He watched as she talked about Percy—a pain he shared also—as she crossed her arms over her chest, almost like she could protect herself from the hurt. He watched as she bitterly explained Luke's latest activity and how she planned to crush it, burn it to the ground. He watched as she subtly begged for him to come with her, to end a war or two out of the many, to save her from the hole she'd dug for herself and for the people she'd sworn to protect.

And as each new layer of Ms. Chase was revealed, Nico found that Annabeth was really just as human as everyone else. She hurt, she succeeded, she grieved at her lowest points, and flushed a lively pink at the highs, she just wanted to save everyone and everything and it was too much, but he couldn't discredit her for lack of trying.

In some ways, she reminded him of Bianca a lot, actually. The way she held herself, it was the same grace his older sister had, it was the same calm demeanor, and not composed exterior. Perhaps that's why he decided to say yes.

"Nico?"

"Fine."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up in excitement, and at the same time Will blinked with large blue eyes at him. Nico's face didn't change.

"Really," he confirmed. "We are not friends right now, obviously, but for my people, and my parents, and my sister of course, I'll come, I'll be recruited to whatever downtrodden base you stay at, and I'll leave this world behind."

"Thank you," she whispered, stunned.

"Thank me by winning these damn wars. Enough have died." He glanced down, his feet cold all of a sudden. Was he really doing this? Leaving behind his newly acquired crown, his family? He'd take Will, too, of course, but it wasn't the same. The life of a King to a life of a rebel. That would be new. But some part of him deep down convinced him that this is what his sister would have wanted, the start of something new.

"I'll do my best." She glanced around the room. "We'd better get packing."

Will fetched a bag from one of Nico's quarters, and together the three of them began to prepare for the journey in front of them.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Gathered around the bonfire, their shadows seemed long in the light. Nico was seated next to her on the log, the only one who dared to keep her company now. Even Percy had faded somewhere in the crowd, and she was sure he had been avoiding her recently. That was fine with her; the feeling was mutual.

Nico was a head shorter than her, and he was quiet, but he was surprisingly good company the past few days, as was Will, though she suspected the blond felt a bit more awkward with her. Slowly moving past history, Nico had grown a close friend of hers again, and though sometimes he seemed to be irrationally angry with her, he was coming around again, the final bandage over her heart. His silence was comforting.

"We'll run out of people," Annabeth voiced, and Reyna blinked at her.

"We just acquired so many from the prison," the General pointed out.

Annabeth was very aware of people discussing her behind her. Foolish, but she wasn't in the right anymore, at least, not in the eyes of the public.

"It's not enough." The blonde shook her head. Someone behind her whispered _power-hungry_ , and she found solace in the way Nico's knuckles turned white around the base of the log. "We need more if we're going to win the final wars."

"The King of Epresh already picked our side," said Reyna. "Though, soon to not be King, I suppose. And with His Highness right there," she pointed to Nico, "that war is out too. That leaves the Rayas and the Calbournes. How could we run out?"

"You underestimate them." Annabeth frowned. "There's more to it than two simple wars, I just know it."

"Intuition again?" Thalia muttered under her breath. She'd been avoiding her too.

"I've got an idea," Percy began, stepping out from behind the people. They hastily parted way for him, almost afraid of the ex-King. That's why her and Percy had formed an unspoken agreement in the first place—it was nicer to be comforted by one another than feared on your own.

"We storm the White Hospital," the Calbourne suggested.

Piper glanced up then. "And save everyone inside?" She looked to Percy, hopeful.

"And save as many as we can," Percy agreed, nodding at her. "But more importantly—"

"—those who want to fight, those vengeful and angry from being locked up, they join us," Annabeth finished. Percy's head snapped up to her in surprise, and she held his gaze, fiercer than him. After a few moments, he looked away first. "It would exponentially increase our numbers; Octavian's captured too many. It'll be like summoning a demon, walking into that hellhole, and he'll probably be after me or another ex-royal, knowing his bloodthirsty self, but I need to find him too. If I can get a few answers out of him, I think we'll have a major advantage."

Reyna pursed her lips. "It's risky, but if we're careful, I'm on board. All those in favor?"

Annabeth's anxiety diminished at the sea of hands.

"Very well," Reyna decided. "We'll make plans first thing tomorrow, and leave the day after. Annabeth, see me after this. We need to pick squads, designate jobs, the usual mission tasks. You are all dismissed."

Amazons and Canadians alike scattered every which way, the air filling with dead silence, but as the blonde followed Reyna's pace to the tactic northern shelter, she was in another headspace entirely, simply imagining what it would be like when she finally got her hands on Octavian.

She was sure he thought he had the upper hand, but he had to just wait and see. He'd killed Jason, had taken her best friend away from her, and he'd played the part of a dictator, a psychopath when he'd reopened that damned hospital. As far as Annabeth was concerned, there was barely enough room for one psychopath in her world, and that space was occupied by her ex-betrothed.

There was a storm inside her head, and it was killing all the flowers. Storms took no prisoners.


	21. Can You Feel The Hate Tonight

**Drew**

"Octavian!" she exclaimed, failing to hide her surprise. Drew cursed under her breath. Stupid, creepy boy, always sneaking up on her.

"So surprised." He raised an eyebrow. "Who were you expecting?"

"No one." She drew away from her vanity, discreetly shoving something back in the drawer.

He glanced at her vanity. "A vanity is for the vain."

Drew rolled her eyes. "Or for those who wish to see their faces instead of sloppily applying lipstick like a clown."

He blinked.

"May I help you?" she tried again, exasperated.

It wasn't as if she'd been applying makeup anyways—Rayas used vanities to conceal secrets, not flaws. Cecily's letter felt like it had burned her hand before being stuffed into that drawer.

"Actually, I was wondering if I might help you."

"Me?" She warily glanced at him. "I don't need any help," she added stiffly, and stood up.

"You might, if you let me explain."

"Go on," she reluctantly muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. She couldn't have possibly prepared herself for what came next.

"I know about you and Cecily."

Drew's mouth went dry. _How?_ "Excuse me?" It was but a foolish mistake to confirm a statement without understanding the full meaning of it.

"And not as friends, though you both certainly put on a show. I know you spend your nights with her, and I know your mother grieves your father, and I also know that when we marry, my cousin goes back to Kreoca to marry another."

Drew's anger simmered. How dare he make accusations of her, however true, how dare he encroach onto their secret haven, protected and apart from all the chaos of their lives, how dare he come into her room and tell her a situation of her own she knew all too well?

"Are you _spying_ on me?" she demanded.

Sensing her fury, Octavian took a step back. "Of course not, Ms. Tanaka. I'm merely stating some observations that anyone who isn't blind will have noticed. Making a deduction afterwards was only sp simple. You aren't exactly subtle at the dinner table, and you both go for an awful lot of walks."

"What's your point?" Drew snapped, fed up with his mind games. "Why bring this up now? To twist the knife? To rub salt in a wound? To show me that your presence controls mine, even in my own castle?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you seek? If you seek power, I have none of my own to lend you," she added bitterly.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. You have the power of brain, Ms. Tanaka. Kingdoms turned to the Ashingtons for strategy, but they should've looked to you instead, for you have quietly created your own power."

Drew scoffed. "Flattery will get you nowhere. Explain your angle or leave. I have no time to waste on your amateur tactics."

"I bring this up," he began delicately, "because I have an offer to make you. You're a smart girl, and you know every royal seeks power. Help me help you."

"I don't make deals with the devil," she snarled.

"You do if I tell your entire family what you've been up to." Octavian's eyes glittered.

"Your blackmail won't work for you, idiot."

Octavian froze, and Drew relished the feeling of being one of the rare people to call him an 'idiot' to his face. The satisfaction was unbelievable.

"In your effort to twist my arm, you pin your cousin too. Come after me, and you stain the Langen name as well. Cecily falls to pieces with me, Sir. It's a double-edged sword." Drew's heart was eerily calm.

"I don't care for Cecily's reputation. Yes, it affects all Langens, but I can always rise alone."

Drew gritted her teeth, disgusted by the child standing in front of her.

"If I get what I want, I help those who helped me to the top. I'll free you to Canada, or wherever else you'd like, alongside Cecily. You can be free together," he promised.

"Tempting, but why should I trust you? You're possessive, creepy, and an all-around prick," she hissed. "How do I know you're not full of empty promises if, up until this point, you've been full of nothing but bullshit?" Drew smiled sweetly, pleased to see his armor crack.

Octavian's cool demeanor faltered for a moment. "You'll just have to trust my word. Besides, what I ask for is not particularly demanding. I'm not asking to be King, I will not marry you because I'll call off the engagement, or I'll keep it there just so Cecily has a reason to stay, and all I want is one person, one trading chip. And with the bargaining chip, I can get you whatever you want."

Drew knew deep down exactly who he was asking for. "Let me guess? You want blondey?" She put on hand on her hip and shifted her weight against the dresser.

Octavian's ice cold hands slithered behind his back into a tight grip. He grinned. "You know me so well."

"I wish I didn't," she snarkily replied.

"Don't be that way," Octavian crooned, delighted to see her considering his offer.

Trade the Princess? Who knows what Octavian would do with her? But she was indeed a bargaining chip, good against Luke, good against Malcolm and Athena, good against the Pevanshires. She was everyone's favorite, reckless, charming sweetheart, and she'd charmed her way to the top with that sharp tongue, but that didn't mean Drew had a personal vendetta against her.

"What'll you do with her?" Drew inquired.

Octavian sneered. "Does it matter? My family teamed up with Rayas for a reason, my dear. You, like me, like my family, know everything has a price. You know that at the end of the day, alliances are only strong enough to get you far, not all the way. You know that anyone can betray anyone, and you know that in this world, you must always look out for yourself first. And yet, you have put your faith in me and my offer. You and I already know what decision you're going to make too, so why bother contemplating?"

"She'll murder you," Drew bit out. "I can't help you anyways. I don't know where she is or what she's doing."

"Yes, but I know you can find out. You're like a magnet, my dear—all knowledge comes to you if you want it to. You attract secrets at whim and you hear every whisper. It's a talent; use it."

Drew hesitated. "What do I have to find out?"

"If I know the Ashingtons, I know Annabeth will be planning to attack my hospital soon."

She drew back in surprise. "Why would you tell me that?" _His_ hospital—he'd admitted it so openly now. Sure, she still didn't know why he did what he did, but she had a fairly good idea of the sick torture that went on in there. Twisted bastard.

"Because I _know_ you," he breathed, excited. "And if I'm right, you already knew it was mine, though few do."

Drew felt like her mind had been ripped open and displayed for all to see. Of course she'd known. He'd said it himself—she was the queen of secrets, like a detective, only much more calculated, more manipulative.

"Do you deny it?" he asked.

"I do not," she acquiesced. She could only linger on something she'd found out a few days. "You know she'll come," Drew began, "because you killed that bodyguard of hers." She maintained a perfect poker face, a spitting image of poise and grace.

"Another thing you've discovered! You're only proving my point," Octavian exclaimed. "But precisely. I know she'll attack to avenge her friend, but I don't know when. I'm not worried about my prisoners. Most of them won't remember anything; the torture is so effective." He smirked. "But I want her for my own, and I can't capture her if I don't know when she's arriving. Find out when, and I'll uphold my part of our deal."

Drew's palms began to perspire. Could she throw away the ex-Princess to the dogs that easily? Drew squeezed her eyes shut, praying she was making the right choice, and then locked eye contact with the pale man in front of her.

Cecily's ginger haired burned like flames in her mind. To be selfish was to survive, and she hadn't made it this far off pure luck.

"I'll agree on one condition," she cautioned.

Octavian straightened his spine. "Yes?"

She jerked him forward by the collar, surprising even herself with her own strength. Octavian's pale eyes widened in shock and perhaps something resembling fear. She was not as merciful as him, and like her mother, Drew never forgot anything.

He tried to shove her off, but her fist was like iron. She could snap his neck if she wanted to, but she didn't.

"If you even _think_ about going back on our deal in the end, I promise you, you'll be _praying_ for the fate you plan for Annabeth Chase."

…

"Excuse me if I'm speaking out of turn, but—"

"You are," she assured the reporter. The lights flashing in her face were obnoxious and white lights had never been rather flattering for her skin tone. Her mouth pulled into a tight frown.

The man tilted his head to one side. "My Lady, I haven't even said anything ye—"

"Irrelevant. You reporters always speak out of turn," she dismissed his attempt to explain himself. It would be nothing more than a waste of time. "Continue," she permitted, her eyes glittering. She relished his expression of astonishment. The reporters clamored among themselves, fighting to get more questions out and catch the attention of the Princess, but her attention was reserved for the big-mouth in front of her.

Stunned, he carried on. "You seem unchanging to your father's passing," he revealed.

"Is that all? That's hardly a question."

He blinked. "Careful, Miss. People may get the wrong idea," he warned, but she swiftly waved her hand, ignoring him altogether.

"Then people should really base their information off facts, not children's rumors, shouldn't they?" she posed. The corner of her mouth twitched up.

"Forgive me for asking, but why so indifferent?"

"People die," Drew said, and she didn't move, only stared the person down. She was sure she was making the crowd uncomfortable, but she didn't dare stop. It was about time she established her place on her throne.

He quivered at her icy silence, eager for her to continue and ease the tension.

"People have always died, and they will always continue to die, but this life is for the living, not for the dead. It does not do one well to dwell on past remorse and forget to live, or we are eternally damned to be as alive as the ghosts we miss."

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the peace shattered into pure chaos. "Ms. Tanaka!" a brunette in the back shouted.

"Your Highness! Do you care to expand on such wisdom?" This reporter had scrappy black hair and large glasses. Eventually the overlapping voices were too much for her to even pick out who'd said what, fading into a mere blur of voices and lights.

"Does this mean you don't care about your younger sister either?"

"Yes, what of Piper?!"

"Miss, over here! How would you describe your relationship with your mother?"

"Is she grieving?"

"Why is the Queen hiding in her castle?"

Drew's features pinched downwards. "That will be all for now, thank you."

The reporters scrambled to get a few more inquiries in, but she ignored them all, not bothering to offer even a pitiful smile and stepping down from the podium before disappearing behind the velvet balcony curtains.

* * *

**Nico**

In all fairness, it wasn't like Nico had been particularly invested in the Amazonian activities. He was here to sit by Annabeth's side as she spoke some nonsense and watch the news almost religiously, like he was afraid something bad was going to happen, which he was only too sure would.

So when he heard that they were going on a quest to the hospital, he decided to sit that one out. The life of a hero wasn't one for him: " _I'm not a hero. A hero is foolish enough to pick a side,"_ he'd spat in Reyna's face only two weeks before. " _Now let me be."_

Will kept him company sometimes, but it seemed like the healer had found a home here, one he had never had at the castle. In sharp contrast to the Pevanshire's homesickness, Will Solace had became one with the Canadians and Amazons. Even the Amazons, many of whom despised men, had taken a liking to the blond.

He told stories to the children before bedtime with Hazel, a girl who embodied a calm constant even _Nico_ found pleasant, he fished in the daytime even though he was really quite terrible at it, making the Amazons laugh and adopt him like a younger brother, he enjoyed collecting herbs and plants with the Canadians, an expert in all things botanical, and he spent his free time bandaging up the bloodiest of questers and the smallest scrapes of kids.

Nico, on the other hand, had developed a wandering mind. He tried not to smoke, he really did for Will's sake, but sometimes it was impossible to resist. When he passed the graveyard, he was reminded of the sister he'd abandoned in a cold grave, and when he stayed in the simple cabins and barracks built by hand, he was reminded of the cool, smooth stone he ran through when he was younger. When he passed rows of purple petunias, he remembered Queen Persephone—though they didn't always see eye to eye, she was his mother figure, and they had understood each other in their own special way. And perhaps most of all, surprisingly, he missed his father.

Hades and him rarely had spoken the past two years. When his father said anything, it was directed towards their people, his wife, or sometimes Bianca. The last time they had conversed was Bianca's funeral. Like him, his father preferred to stay in the shadows, out of the spotlight—a dreaded area he reserved for his shining wife. Until he'd been dragged up to the front to deliver a speech, he, too, had lingered in the back next to his only son. They had sat in silence for the majority of the ceremony, and only moments before he'd been summoned to publicly grieve, Hades had said something. It hadn't been particularly memorable—Hades wasn't the type of man to indulge in flowery words and double meanings—but it had been enough for Nico.

" _The sky is bluer today, is it not?"_

_Nico blinked. "Is it not always blue?"_

" _It's bluer, now, I think."_

_Nico entertained him with silence._

_Hades gazed up at the fluffy white clouds, his impassive expression shifting so miniscule only Nico could have noticed. "It's a spectacular cerulean," he whispered. "Perhaps it only seems more blue because we have nothing better to look at. No one wishes to watch one's own daughter be lowered into the ground, so one will look to the sky, or the muddy ground, or anywhere else."_

_Nico didn't flinch. His father had always been rather honest. "I don't like the blue," was all he said._

_Hades shrugged. "Then look elsewhere. Heaven knows it's what the rest of us do."_

_There was something so profound about the way his father spoke. A man of few words, but a brain of many thoughts._

" _I never knew grief felt so much like fear," Hades murmured, and he glanced at Nico's cigarette impassively. "Son."_

" _Father," Nico acknowledged._

_Hades nodded, stood, and walked to the front podium without another word._

Now, Nico glanced up at the blue sky. It was duller than the day Bianca had been buried, and he suspected it would be raining soon. Mindlessly, he wondered if, far away across many lands and wars, Hades was looking to the sky too.

…

"Nico." It was an irritating whisper in his ear, tickling his cheek. Nico turned over, fanning away the bother, and frowning in his interrupted sleep. " _Nico_." It was more urgent this time. The dark-haired boy's eyes shot open in both annoyance and exasperation.

" _What?_ " he demanded through gritted teeth, staring up at Will through slitted eyes. Will was waving a small slip of paper in his hand.

"This was slipped under our door. I'm assuming an Amazon down at the letters section found it. It's addressed for you."

"It's still sealed?" Nico feigned surprise. No one would dare touch his things. No one would even dare come within four feet of him besides Annabeth, Will, and Percy. Even Piper mindlessly avoided him, though he blamed that more on the loss of that boy that had trailed behind Annabeth forever more than anything else. That and the long-standing rivalry between Rayas and Pevanshires. Piper was probably wary.

Will rolled his eyes. "Just open it, stupid. I wonder who sent you mail." The camp base was in a secure location with an address known to few. Nico, who spent his days actively avoiding social situations, receiving mail? It seemed laugh-worthy. Suspicious, Nico turned his back to Will and sat on the edge of their bed, unfolding the paper carefully in his hands. Will, much to Nico's relief, didn't try to look over his shoulder, trusting that it was probably personal matters.

What Nico discovered was much different. It was vaguer, it was wary, it was… strange, and, yet, it was intriguing:

_If you want a solution, Prince, meet me just around the bend of the buried after the bonfire tomorrow night._

The note wasn't signed or anything, and he didn't recognize the handwriting. If Nico felt like being rational, he would dispose of the note, shut his eyes, perhaps smack Will with a pillow for interrupting him, and go the fuck back to sleep. Unfortunately for his screwed up sleep schedule, his curiosity got the best of him. No one in the camp would dare speak to him, so who would send this?

Nico had never been particularly risk-oriented. He didn't throw himself into fires like the pesky blonde Princess, he didn't jump off the sides of buildings like he was in a dramatic _James Bond_ movie; no, he preferred his doses of danger in small, pointless, mind-numbing, slow torture methods, like smoking cigarettes in a tree where, if fate was on his side, the ash would strike lumber and set his body aflame, like putting shiny stones in his pockets and standing at the end of water reefs and contemplating what would happen if he 'fell' forward, like not sleeping for twelve days in a row and living off Persephone's precious pomegranate seeds. He liked to watch himself burn slowly, not slip and fall into a dark ditch. He was methodical that way, even in his own demise.

But this note, this changed everything. With the secrecy of the Amazons standing around him, and this secret temptation, Nico found himself longing to take the risk. Worst case scenario (or best, depending on how you look at it), he never came back. Will would be okay, and he would fulfill the fate he had been destined from the day he was born.

From the moment we are born, we begin our journey of a slow death. Some make seventy years, others accomplish the great experience of one hundred, but Nico had his money on eighteen, if even that. And he fully intended to live his short life to the fullest. He had many issues and though he wasn't sure who his secret note-writer intended to fix, he was enthralled by the sheer audacity that someone else believed they could, alone, fix the hell life had become.

"Nico?" Will's broke him out of his reverie.

"Yeah?" He neatly folded the note again, only to toss it into the fireplace across the room.

Will hesitated. "Who was it?"

"Some practical joke," Nico lied. "Don't worry about it, and don't interrupt me again."

He could feel Will frowning behind him. He'd always been a terrible liar, a strong believer in the truth, no matter how brutally honest, so when Will said nothing and crawled back under the bed, a pang of guilt hit him.

"Goodnight, Nico," was all Will whispered into the dark before turning the other way.

Nico fell back into the bed and contemplated the words even as Will's uneasy shifting under the covers settled and the blond's breathing became even. The crickets outside had quieted, only feeding Nico's unease.

"Goodnight," he whispered to the empty walls around him.

* * *

**Annabeth**

She shivered in the cool hospital, bumps raising on her skin. There were shouts in the corridors as prisoners were set free. Amazons ran through the hallways, systematically breaking chains free and busting out the captures. The Canadians had formed a makeshift assembly line as they ushered the people into the jet. Sirens wailed all around her, bathing her in red lights. Octavian surely knew she was here that they were here and ready to fight. He had not yet showed his face. Coward. She would find himself instead.

If she could capture him… she would go down as one of the greatest Amazons to ever live, and the prospect, however small, was much too tempting. She could avenge Jason by making him fall to his knees, and she could interrogate him for information, setting the Amazons ahead in the wars once again. Annabeth took a deep breath. She mustn't get ahead of herself. _One step at a time, Chase._

She nodded towards Reyna before running to the fire escapes, scaling the stairs. When she reached the top platform, her lungs were on fire, but so was her soul. Nothing could stop her now, but therein laid the issue: when you're on top of the world, all you can do is look for ways not to fall.

…

Behind her, footsteps ascended the fire escape she'd came up. The hairs on the back of her neck stood and all at once, she knew she was close. Annabeth whirled around and came to face with none other than the very man she'd been looking for.

"Ah, Princess. I'd been wondering when you'd be coming."

His eyes glittered, the same glassy blue she wanted to shatter, and his skin was nearly translucent, a reminder that he was nothing more than her ghost, her irritating, hair-ripping ghost.

"Octavian," she growled, narrowing her eyes at him. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her knife.

He glanced down at the weapon, clicking his tongue with distaste, and then he looked around in an almost exaggerated movement. "No backup?" he asked, feigning sympathy,

She gritted her teeth. She could not lose her head to the way in which he pressed all her buttons. "I need no backup."

"That's certainly optimistic." He grinned.

Annabeth pursed her lips. "It's just you and me, Langen. I have no doubts."

"But you will," he decided, smiling to himself. "They always doubt when they're standing on the edge."

"The edge?" she inquired, and obliged, circling him like he circled her. It was a dance, and she'd never been a graceful waltzer, but the battlefield was her playground, and she'd teethed on a knife.

"The edge," he repeated, spreading his arms. "The divide between good and evil, light and dark, teamwork and the temptation of solitary glory." When he smiled, his sharp canines glittered under the white lights.

"I'm on no such edge, and neither are you," she sniffed, stiffening. "You're far past."

"Sure," he agreed, shrugging. "But you certainly live on the edge now, Ms. Chase. I hope you do not think me so foolish that I have not been watching you. I have, and I must say, I'm most enthralled. You argue with everyone, did you know? And what's more—the most interesting part in my opinion—you _win._ Astounding. You think you've lured me up here, but it's quite the opposite." He was thoughtful, his eyes glazing over for a moment. "I've lured you up here with sheer curiosity. You seeked me out, and now you're here alone. You could scream and no one will hear you."

She dared not roll her eyes; even a millisecond off him, and he'd try some cruel trick. "I won't scream, I assure you."

"Won't give me the pleasure?" he mocked.

"Never," she muttered, twirling her lethal knife. "I'd rather die."

"Shame. I like a little fight in my friends." His smile was unsettling, and she really wished he would stop.

"That's disgusting. You can kill without cruelty."

"You take all the fun out of it," Octavian complained, waving away her concerns. "That's my favorite part—watching that light die in their eyes, that moment when they realize there's no room for hope in my hell."

With the reflexes of a lioness, Annabeth dodged his sudden strike, and instead sliced open his chest. He flinched back in pain.

"And you're next," he promised, his eyes rimmed red with anger.

"You'll never have me, not truly," she vowed. "Chain me, leave me in a room with my own thoughts, blind me with your white lights, but I won't bow to half a man."

"I'll _make_ you bow."

"Try me," she challenged. "I've been told I'm a hard one to crack."

"Those are the most fun, though, when they finally break," he replied, and they were silent for a moment, locked in a staring contest. Octavian broke away, continuing on. "Imagine the look on Luke's face, or Aphrodite's if I brought you to them, beat up, but alive." He couldn't quite contain his excitement. "Bloodied up and worth so much more."

"They wouldn't pay a dime for me," she lied through her teeth.

He laughed. "Oh, they'd do much worse than that, Ms. Chase. They'd pay for you in _blood._ You, my dear, are the key to the downfall of anyone. I take you and the Ashingtons will do anything to have you back, Luke would drop all his forces to have you as his little pet, Aphrodite would murder a fleet of men to use you as her _own_ bargaining chip, and the Pevanshires would look after you as your own. Only the Amazons wouldn't care about their little pawn. Foolish people."

She scowled. "We cleared your entire hospital." The noise downstairs had certainly decreased, and she could only assume that they were nearly ready to escape. She had to kill Octavian at least, not leave him wandering, and quickly. "We're better than you give us credit for, and we'll kill you too."

"You're only doing this to save your little blond friend. He's dead, isn't he?" Octavian knew just how to twist the knife. Annabeth said nothing, her blood boiling at the mention of Jason. Octavian smirked, like he knew how he'd stirred her emotions. "Pity."

Annabeth swiped at him again, but this time she missed. His strike landed instead, cutting her forearm deeply. "Why would you create this hellhole?" she pondered out loud as they fought in full force now. "I just don't get it. What are you _hiding?"_

" _Feisty,"_ he teased. "I like you," Octavian decided, as he stabbed her in the abdomen. She doubled over for a moment, wheezing, and then quickly rolled to the side, avoiding another stab. "What a shame that you'd never landed the throne; you'd have made one hell of a Queen, My Lady."

He was dodging her questions, the bastard. She hadn't expected much, but not this, not these showers of compliments as he tried to kill her. Crazy man. She bitterly stabbed him in the shoulder, pleased when his eye twitched. And then she pulled it out, letting him bleed for all to see.

"How's the Calbourne boy?" Octavian changed topics, aiming for her knees. She jumped over his sword, using his body weight to catapult to the side out of harm's way.

"Which one?" She blew a strand of her hair out of her face.

At that, Octavian threw his head back and laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "The dopey, naive one," he snarled. "He still in love with you? What a fool."

"Love has no place in war," Annabeth breathed.

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. Men start and end wars over love. All for a pretty face." The tip of his weapon grazed her cheek, and she felt the warm liquid dripped down her face. "Well… as pretty as it gets."

She snorted. "As if you're Prince Charming. You're practically invisible." She goaded him, and this time, it actually worked. "Casper the not so friendly ghost," she mocked.

"I'm engaged," he fired back.

"Good for you." She beamed. "And unlucky for her."

He scowled. "Foolish child," he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Always the same and they never learn. They always want to fall for the one that saved them, don't they? And yet, time and time again, the hero often comes with the greatest inner turmoil, often hurts them so badly, yet they always go running back." He sneered. "What a waste. Perseus is almost as fucked up as the rest of his blood."

Annabeth flared up with anger. "I am _not_ a fool," she spat indignantly. However, her cheeks still burned red: she had not denied any other part of his claim. "And you are no less messed up than the rest of them."

"Perhaps," said Octavian impassively.

Annabeth seethed, forcing herself to keep from shouting that she was not, indeed, a fool of any sort. Only screaming that childishly at him would merely prove his point. Bastard.

"I would heed my warning carefully," Octavian murmured, yanking her hair down before cutting her. A dirty move. She grabbed a box on her left and shoved it into his face, satisfied with the yowl that left his mouth. She could play dirty too.

"You're playing with fire, my Lady," Octavian seethed, a cruel smile curling at the edges of his lips, "and you might get burned."

Feeling brave, Annabeth raised her chin in defiance, shooting him a steady, calm stare.

"You can't get burned, _my Lord_ , if you're the flame."

"Bold words," he panted. "For a daughter of second-best. I'll tear Malcolm to the ground, you know. Him and your mother, both, wretched creatures. Let us hope your brother's sword is sharper than his pen," his watered-down blue eyes glittered maliciously, looking black and beady, and dark like a void. "And Luke, too. He's a twisted bastard, but there's only room for one."

"Luke?" Annabeth laughed incredulously. "Don't get me wrong; I hate him with every piece of me, but Luke will rip you to shreds with a mere look, forget anything else. Do not be so arrogant that you believe you can win every war, Octavian. Heed your _own_ warning: you're playing with fire. It would not be wise to play on stakes you're not familiar with."

A blue vein popped out on his forehead. "Are you saying I'm not smart enough? Not powerful enough?"

"Both," she suggested, smiling smugly as she pierced his chest with her dagger. Her face was mere centimeters from his, her blade dug to the hilt in skin.

"You're a fool." His red mouth parted in surprise, and then she pulled the blade out as he fell to the ground. "That's for Jason. But I won't give you the mercy of immediate death." She stepped on the crook of his elbow, the chink in his armor, and it twisted unnaturally. The blonde smiled when he cried out in pain, a guttural noise escaping his throat. "And that's for good measure." Octavian let a string of incoherent curses.

"You should've fled back to Kreoca for your mother when you had the chance."

* * *

**Percy**

"Octavian will tear you to pieces!" a guard seethed. "Let him show you his mercy! Let you suffer! Let Satan take hold of you!"

His big exclamations were beginning to piss him off, so Percy chopped his head off, as you do. What he saw next he didn't expect.

"Is everyone cleared?" Annabeth came up behind him, and his jaw nearly fell to the ground. She was bloodied up, _bad,_ and her cheek was swollen. He stood, silent and staring, stunned.

"What _happened?_ " he exclaimed, unable to control his volume.

"You should see the other guy." Even as she winced, she offered the smallest of smug smiles. "I'll explain later. Let's just get out of here before he comes after me." She nervously glanced behind her.

"Octavian?" he hissed, angry beyond disbelief, but for once not at her. That bastard. "You didn't kill him? And you went after him yourself after Reyna specifically instructed you _not_ to?!"

"I needed to interrogate him." She shook her head. "But I can't. He's engaged, Percy. So, I just injured him pretty well."

"Are you crazy?"

She glared at him. "I don't know who he's engaged to. We'd best not make some serious enemies. C'mon, let's go. I don't trust him to stay down."

As if on cue, Octavian appeared at the other end of the hall. The door was at the opposite end of the hospital. Percy swallowed. Annabeth hadn't been lying: for every cut on her body, she'd left bruises and a stab on his. Annabeth's face drained of color. He could only assume Octavian had said something to her, threatened to kill somebody she loved, disclosed something absolutely horrible, but he couldn't quite come to a conclusion.

"Percy," she hissed, and then the dagger came flying. He ducked, pulling Annabeth down to the ground as the throwing knife embedded itself in the wall behind them. Octavian tilted his head at the both of them, blood dripping down the corner of his mouth, and then he smiled, bloody teeth and all. Percy shuddered. He'd always known the Langens were creepy, but this man looked like the girl from 7 Rings, except all fucked up.

Annabeth's mouth parted in surprise.

"Thought you'd seen the last of me, little Annie?" Octavian sweetly inquired, using Medusa's nickname for her. And then Octavian charged them. Percy stumbled to the other side, just as Annabeth fell from the opposite end. He cursed; Octavian was a clever little shit, splitting them up like that. And then the Langen chased after the Princess, forcing her to fight for her life.

Annabeth ran like the devil was chasing her, through the twisted corners and turns of the hospital ground floor, and he watched in horror as guards began to surround them both. He slowly picked them off one by one, killing them with his sword, and earning as many injuries as Annabeth had in her solo battle. Hopefully, if she could hold her own against Octavian and he could sweep out Octavian's reinforcements, they'd make out of there alive.

He knew he'd yelled at her, but that didn't mean he wasn't hopelessly in love with her. And even if he wasn't, well, he wouldn't wish this upon the worst of his enemies, not even Luke. But that was irrelevant because he would've done _anything_ to trade places with her if he could. Bring a city to its knees, blow up a castle, kill a man, none of it mattered if she was in danger, and it was dangerous because she couldn't have been as serious as he was, and he _knew_ it was dangerous to be this invested, but he was rendered weak when it came to her. And here she was in trouble and he couldn't even save her, which _killed_ him. He was supposed to be there for her even when nobody else was, he was supposed to save everyone, he was supposed to look out for her, the stupid, reckless, terrible Princess. It felt like he was slowly choking.

"Annabeth!" Panic seized him, and it wouldn't let go. He skidded down the hallway, glancing to his right as he ran. Through the cracks between walls and rooms he could see her running too, her blonde hair wildly flowing behind her. Hot on her trail, Octavian swiftly reached forward and grabbed a handful of her golden locks, and she let out a yelp of pain. He came to a halt at the end of the corridor, his lungs begging for air, his eyes blown wide with pure fear.

"Percy—" she gasped, as she battled Octavian for her freedom. He was paralyzed, watching in horror. Annabeth kneed him hard and the Langen doubled over in pain. As he did, he hit a large button on the side of the wall. Just when Percy had thought they had won, they lost everything. Fate was so cruel. The doors between them, the divide between the prison and the outside world, began to slide closed.

"Annabeth!" he cried again, making a mad dash for her. She was just too far. "Work with me. You've got to get around that barrier!" The layout of the damn hospital was too damn confusing and there was a glass wall around her, and because it was blasted glass he couldn't figure out how to help her escape this… this maze. His throat constricted.

The doors were closer now, almost gone. He could barely squeeze his torso in if he tried. She maneuvered around some glass, and he allowed himself a few drops of hope. She was close, she was coming, she was almost out, he could see it now, it would all be okay—

"I'm sorry," she said over the chaos, and he frowned. About what? Their stupid argument? How could she be thinking about that now? _Because she thought that this was the end, and she was making her final amends._ It was a lump he couldn't quite swallow, a pill caught in his esophagus.

Percy reached his hand out, the other hand reaching back for the jet starting up behind him. He slipped it through the crack, his heart pounding out of his chest. But then he saw her face. She wasn't going to make it in time, but _no_ that couldn't be, she was so fucking close, don't let her—

"Hurry!" But he knew it was useless. He knew that face; how many times had he worn it himself? Annabeth shook her head in resignation, and he sort of felt like crying, like falling to his knees and weeping pathetically. He couldn't lose her now. He hadn't even made up with her yet, he hadn't held her for so long, and now he never would again.

"Do you—do you forgive me?" she gasped. She tensed, and for a moment he wondered if she really had more anxiety over his forgiveness than over her own life. Of course she would.

He hesitated. "Of course." And he did. She would be better; she would be okay; they would be okay.

She slumped in defeat and only then did he spot the blood oozing from her side. Octavian must have got her a few more times during her fleeing, and rage manifested itself inside of him.

"Thank you," she sighed, leaning against the wall. The doors were almost closed now. There was pressure on his wrist and if he didn't pull his hand out soon, it would probably crush him.

Annabeth stepped back, just out of his reach, and he got this twisted feeling in his stomach. She offered the saddest of smiles, a farewell bid he couldn't accept. Octavian had come up behind her now and he had a knife in his hand, pricking at his heart, but she was all he could concentrate on.

"Annabeth," he breathed, engraving the name in his mind, and her face, and her voice. He would come back for her even if it was the last thing he ever did. "I won't leave you here. I _can't_ ," his voice cracked.

Her fingers just barely brushed against his fingertips before she pulled her hand back, and the silver doors softly shut between them. Her whisper lingered in the air and only once her face faded from his view did he realize that she'd said, "Percy." Just his name and that was all.

It was beautiful outside, and he felt an irrational anger with the sun for shining on him when she was locked away in a land barren of hope and full of Octavian's cruelty

Percy stood, stunned for a moment, and then he crumpled to the ground, staring at the doors until Piper hauled him away and onto the jet. Nearby guards were closing in, sure to capture him and Piper both if he didn't work with her, if he didn't run with her. His weight alone was too much for her, and if it weren't for Piper, he would've let the guards take him in. But he would not let them imprison Piper too; that was far too many bargaining chips, even for the chance to see the Princess again.

His mind still couldn't fathom it. She was imprisoned in Octavian's cells, and where did that leave him?

He had found his personal hell, and it was colder than Octavian's fortress, lonelier than the whitest of his rooms, and darker than the chains around Annabeth's wrists.


	22. I'm Fucking Sane and Other Lies I Tell Myself

**Annabeth**

She wished to dream of Percy, but in every vision he was blurry, just out of her fingertips, just as she had brought upon herself with this fate. She wished to dream at all, but this torture was designed to keep her awake until Octavian deemed it otherwise.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, jerking her face away from Octavian's repulsive caress. Her cracked lips stung when she ran her tongue over the splits, and though she couldn't see herself, she was sure there were lavender bruises under her eyes.

"Feisty as ever," he sighed. "I thought you'd be more excited to see me, your first human interaction since you've been here."

"How long have I been here?" Annabeth realized. With such smooth floors and walls there was nowhere to even carve in the amount of days she'd been imprisoned.

Octavian's mouth curved up in a smug smile, as if he knew a secret she didn't. "Not long enough if you still have this cheek."

"Going to torture it out of me?"

Octavian shrugged. "We'll see; it depends on how good you'll be. I find I quite like your lip, but I'm not sure the people I plan to give you to will appreciate it as much as I do."

"What's your angle?" she tried, narrowing her eyes at him. "I know you plan to give me away for political reasons, but why all this… drama." She pointedly looked around the room. "Why lock up others if I was the prize you were after?"

He bared his teeth. "Don't flatter yourself; you're not my only valuable bargain."

"Why, Langen?" she repeated.

He tilted his head, towering over her. "Actually, I'd like to hear your guesses, Ashington. I've heard great things about you, and I have no doubt you've been sitting here, scheming with that big brain of yours. Let's hear it, then, see if the rumors are true."

Annabeth bit her lip. If she talked to him, maybe she was more likely to get what she wanted. Octavian was a murderous crazy, but if pleased, he could be negotiated with. If Athena had taught her anything, it was that everything could be unveiled for a price.

"Very well," she acquiesced. Octavian raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by her willingness. "I suspect you're hiding something," she stated quite bluntly. "Those people, they haven't done anything personally to you, but they know something you don't want them to. White Torture was designed to make prisoners forget, to have their minds and memories reshaped, so I suppose what I've been pondering is what memory you're trying to twist."

He blinked. "Interesting theory, Ms. Chase."

"I aim to please."

He barked out a laugh of incredulity. "You? My guard told me you bit him when he tried to stop you from cutting those damn chains into your wrists." His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Annabeth shrugged as best as she could with her hands behind her, tied to the wall. "That wouldn't be entirely inaccurate."

" _Entirely inaccurate?_ " Octavian repeated.

"Your guard fails to mention that he came in the middle of the night, and though it's never night here," she remarked, blinking up at the lights. Her eyes were so heavy… so tired. "I had good reason not to trust his intentions."

"We don't engage in that type of torture here. It's all diplomatic/" He smirked. "But fair enough."

"Excuse me for not trusting the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Octavian."

He pursed his lips. "First names now?"

"Indeed. Are we not all friends here?" She glared. "Perhaps we can share a coffee later."

"When you leave your prison?" he laughed. "Okay."

"My theory," she redirected. "Do you not deny it?"

Octavian hesitated. "I do not," he decided, shifting his weight onto his other foot. _He was telling the truth_ , she deducted.

Her lips spread into a thin, wan smile. "So, tell me Octavian. What did they see?" And then all of a sudden, it came to her, like a dream, like the answer she'd been _longing_ for. "Were they perhaps _monsters?_ Or are you the only monster here?" she accused, infuriated.

Octavian flinched back as her chains screeched at her sudden movement forward. After he'd recollected himself, he spoke. "I must say, Annabeth, I'm highly impressed. They did not exaggerate that brain of yours. What fun it will be to twist it how I wish."

"How did you get them? Are you a wizard? A witch? Satan himself? Infatuated with old myths of Kronos and Ouranos?" Annabeth had never been religious, but they were grown of Greek myths, and to see them come to life, to have Octavian admit his wrongdoings, it was too much.

"A science experiment gone wrong," he revealed, white teeth sparkling.

"A science experiment?" She grasped onto this new information, desperate for more. "For what result?"

"None of your business. I've already told you more than you deserve." His eyes flashed with rare anger.

Annabeth stubbornly set her mouth straight. "If I… if I help you, will you tell me more?" she bargained. It was risky; she would be helping an experiment she didn't understand, but knowledge was the most powerful of all, and if she could get her hands on it and run, she would reign supreme. "If I cooperate, if I'm good?" she whispered.

Octavian paused, taken off guard. "We'll see," he decided, which wasn't a no, it wasn't a no! Hope flooded Annabeth's senses. "But for now, back to your petri dish." He chuckled at his own joke.

"Am I part of your experiment?"

"Like I said earlier, don't flatter yourself. No, you are not."

"Octavian," she hesitated. "Will you really think about it?" She tried to seem kinder than she ever had in her entire life. She _wished_ she could cuss him out, but insulting him would take her no further. It had to be polite anger, an anger that would subconsciously keep him on her side.

He didn't answer. "You would've made a good Queen," he said again, repeating the same thing he'd said the week before.

"Octavian!" she snapped, angry.

"You'll only miss me more when I'm gone and you're left all alone once more," he breathed, and he looked an awful lot like a skinny, mad scientist. The shadows fell unflatteringly on his bony face.

"I won't," Annabeth refused. "Never you," she vowed.

"You will," he argued.

"I won't!" she cried, trying to convince herself more. Strength did not come in numbers, not with her. She, alone, would be okay like this. But it felt like a lie. It was only natural to crave human interaction, no matter with whom. It would eat her alive inside, like a pesticide. _He_ was a pesticide.

"Shhh, it's all over now. It's okay. It was cruel of them to make you fight me," Octavian whispered, tilting her face up to look at him. "You never would have won."

She bit her tongue, fighting to keep the bile down. "You lie."

"Do I? Look at yourself, chained up, just another pawn." He shook his head at her, offering a pitiful glance. She looked down, angry with herself and him, too. "You can rest your head now." His thumb brushed across her cheek, but she just flinched. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be, a close friend to talk to. I'll see you in a few days." He winked, leaving her behind.

She watched him go, helpless. Annabeth slumped forward against her restraints, the bone-tired, weariness coming back to her. Her chains jangled, freezing up with her sudden weight. _A science experiment, monsters, a science experiment, monsters, a science experiment, monsters, a sci…_

The lights were starting to look a lot like the sun now. The fluorescents were like summer in that people relished the light until it became too hot, until they began to perspire, until it was uncomfortable, until it wasn't everything they had wanted it to be. She had fallen into the same void as the rest; she was Icarus, and she had flown too close.

Annabeth stared at the ground and counted the sound of her own heartbeat, slowly growing more mad with each minute.

* * *

**Nico**

"But wait—where are you going?!" Will cried behind him, pulling back his small frame with warm healer hands. Nico groaned, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He had burned the note a long time back.

"Nowhere," he assured the older boy. Will frowned, worry lines creasing his forehead.

"You can't just disappear at eleven at night!"

Nico scowled. "The bonfire's over. There's quite frankly nothing I'm missing. Let go," he hissed, his dark eyes shooting to Will's hand on his shoulder.

"No," Will choked out. "Let me come with you," he pleaded.

"No," Nico persuaded, more stubborn than his blond counterpart. "I'll be back soon, I _promise._ "

"No!" Will exclaimed, his agonized voice making Nico flinch with guilt. "I have been _so_ good to you," the medic breathed, his voice cracking, his face crumpling. Only then did Nico notice that Will's eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "Tell me what I've done wrong, if I have, or tell me why you're leaving when curfew has fallen upon us because you owe me at least an explanation." Will shook his head, his grip tightening on Nico's shoulder.

Nico blinked. "I can't." He shook his head. He didn't know who he was dealing with, he didn't know if it'd put Will in harm's way, he didn't know how caustic the effects would be, and he would not dare bring his gem close to this minefield.

"Why? Why won't you tell me? Why won't you stay the night? Why do you keep sneaking off and keeping secrets and smoking when you think I'm not looking—because trust me, I've _seen_ you do it?" Will pulled away, crossing his arms over his chest in that way he did when he was cold or upset.

"Will. Don't."

"No, Nico. I've been here with you since the beginning, or as close to it as I can get, and I can't let you walk out this door with _something._ "

Nico's shoulders felt heavy. "I _can't._ Trust me," he whispered.

"Why should I? Why, when you conceal everything?" Will shook his head, resigned. "Forget it. Go. Run off on your little adventure and keep your secrets."

Nico stepped forward, but Will only stepped back. "Will—" he tried, but Will held up his hands.

" _No,"_ Will forced out, trying so hard to keep from crying. "Bianca can keep your secrets," he broke down. "You'll always have her, and it'll be enough. Or it won't. Either way, it won't be my problem."

"Will, stop. I'll come back, I told you, I'll be back before you know it, and if all goes how I hope, it'll be okay."

"You'll come back," Will agreed. "But you'll never _really_ be back," he refused, shaking his head to himself. Will held open the door. "Perhaps one day, we will meet again as characters of a different story, as different people with different aspirations, and perhaps we'll share a life then."

Nico's mouth opened and closed at a loss for words. "Don't be like that." His was voice was hoarser than usual.

"I can't help you if you won't help yourself."

 _I am!_ Nico wanted to scream. _This is for me just as much as you. I solve my shit, and then there's nobody in my mind anymore, and it's just you. Trust me, believe in me, love me and no one else. Don't leave me here alone; I don't know how to be alone anymore, not since I met you._

Instead, he was quiet. His silence was enough for Will. Will turned around and walked back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a dull thud. It sent shivers up Nico's spine. And then the anger came.

Nico refrained from punching his fist through the wall. He stormed outside, his heart pounding, his hair flying around in the howling winds. It seemed the Earth was as angry as he was.

He struggled to pull a black box of cigarettes out of his pocket, and when he finally did, his finger had poked a hole in the packaging. Frustrated, he threw it against the bark of a tree, carding his fingers through his jet black hair. Nico cursed to himself, shredding the cardboard box to bits and letting the wind carry the pieces far, far away. He crushed a cigarette in the damp grass under his boot until it was as flat as a pancake, and then he cursed some more.

In trying to fix himself, he'd ruined everything around him. He destroyed everything he touched, and it took everything in him not to run back into that cabin and press Will up against the wall and scream his secrets for all to know if that meant it would give Will peace of mind because Will's happiness was his own.

Instead, Nico walked quietly and calmly to the Amazonian-Canadian graveyard, just as the note had instructed, adding Will's weight to a long list of his own.

…

It was cold out by the water, and Nico knew with a certainty that there was only so long until autumn fell upon them.

The headstones had collected dust, only a select few adorned with flowers, and even those had withered into nothingness, shriveling at the petal tips. He swiped his finger across the top of a wooden board and his hand came up black.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it: a dark, willowy figure lurking under the shadow of a pine tree. Nico stuffed his hands into his pockets, keeping a safe distance.

"So you're my secret admirer," Nico drawled, his mood sour.

The body strolled out of the shadows, revealing himself in the moonlight. He had pale skin, paler than his own, and his clear blue eyes seemed like they appeared on an old, ragged doll. There was something about him that was so familiar, but Nico couldn't quite put his finger on it.

" _You_ ," the dark-haired Prince whispered, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him. "I've seen you before, once." _But where? Think!_

"Me," he agreed, and Nico cringed away from him and his smooth voice. "Let's cut to the chase." And he grinned as if he understood a joke no one else did.

"Sure," Nico warily agreed. "You said you could fix my problem. Which one?"

"Which one were you expecting?"

Nico scowled, unaffected by his mind games. "Either you tell me why you've summoned me, or I leave."

"You won't leave so easily," he promised. "You're not as immune to curiosity as you like to believe, Prince."

"That's for _me_ to decide."

The man cocked a silver eyebrow at him. "If you say so. I must say, I'm insulted you don't recognize me."

"Not my problem," Nico snipped, but in all honesty, it was bothering him too.

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am Octavian Geve Langen, and I'm here to offer you a deal you can't resist."

Nico blanched. He could see it now: glasses full to the brim of Cristal clinking against each other, Percy dancing in the middle of the ballroom floor with Annabeth, a perpetual frown on her face, whispers of royals floating through the air like clouds hanging above, tight shoes and sky-high heels, long trains of silk, draped across pale figures as they laughed so fakely that Nico wanted to punch them all, shake senses back into them—the Ball of the Betrothed, hosted by the Calbournes so long ago. Octavian had been there—Nico had passed him dancing with Annabeth at one point.

But more importantly, all he could focus on was that he was the man who'd _captured_ Annabeth, according to the party who'd return after a mostly successful prison break.

Nico blindly stumbled back; he cursed. "How did you get here?" It was supposed to be secure, this base.

Octavian shrugged. "That's irrelevant. Let's get down to business: you miss your sister, right?"

Nico was stunned silent.

"I'll take that as a yes. You look down on my hospital, but we've recently made a breakthrough, and for a certain price, I'll take some pain off your hands."

"Go fuck yourself," Nico indelicately spat. "You're a twisted bastard, and if you know what's good for you, you'll release Chase." Against his own will, Nico had grown rather close with the blonde. She understood what it was like to hate yourself, she understood loneliness and the good and bad of it, she knew what it was like to hate to love and love to hate, and she, too, was the only other one to experience those sea-green eyes haunting her brain wherever she went.

"Well that's rude, considering that I'm offering to bring back Bianca."

His mouth fell open. "Necromancy?!" he hissed. "That's impossible; get away from me!" he demanded when Octavian stepped forward. "Bastard."

Octavian's eyes glittered, and Nico thought he was going to be sick. "Just ask Annabeth—she's seen my failed attempts." He laughed.

"At what?" Nico dared ask.

"Immortality. Over two hundred test subjects, and I've finally come very close. I need lovely Annabeth to figure out the rest, which, as you know, she'll surely do, indicted by her curiosity."

"What the fuck have you done to her?" he seethed, drawing his sword.

"Nothing she hasn't done to herself," he cheekily responded.

"How _dare_ you," Nico's face was stoic, but his voice trembled with rage. "How dare you come here and promise me lies of fucking _resurrection._ You soil my sister's name, and you tarnish your own in your foolishness! You're one fucked-up son of a bitch, and if Annabeth doesn't kill you first, I _assure_ you, we will."

"Bold words, Prince. 'We?' What 'we' is there here? You are _alone._ Your only companion is in _my_ chains, and the Amazons would throw you away so quickly that it'd make your head spin," Octavian snarled.

Nico couldn't deny that he was tempted, however impossible it seemed. A chance to see his sister again? A chance to atone for his mistakes? A chance to hug her tight like he was a little boy again? But all he could think about was how afraid he was that she'd be different. He could envision a paler version of her, one with empty dark eyes and a heart smaller than his own. He wasn't sure he'd be able to bear that. And even if she was the same, it was a crime.

Hades hadn't been the most attentive father, but his father was the supreme leader of justice, the man behind the law, an iron fist, the one who had taught Nico the one mantra he followed his entire life: _mercy doesn't exist._ The law wasn't always easy, but it was the law.

Nico squeezed his eyes shut, his head pounding. " _No."_

"No?" Octavian repeated, his face twisting into genuine confusion.

"No," Nico echoed, and he was brought back to a conversation between his mother and him about two years ago when she'd first began _really_ explaining what it would be like to be a young King:

" _There are only one or two moments in your life that really matter, moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two—before this and after."_

Nico frowned, a vendor from two months ago popping up in his head when Nico had run into him mistakenly. " _Which way do you go, mister?"_

"No," he said again, and Nico thought that if this was a dramatic movie, this would be the part where the music soared like an eagle, the melody swelling at the climax before shattering to a silence. "This is my family, for better or worse, and I will not let you or anyone else take that away from me. You will not touch my sister, and when I make it out of here, I'll make sure _everyone_ knows what you've done in your little tests. Rest assured, Octavian, your secret will be as public as you always wished."

Octavian bared his teeth, but Nico didn't flinch. This time, he was ready, this time he was positive he was doing the right thing, and it had been an awfully long time since he'd ever been this sure.

There was just one thing that was bothering him: why would Octavian have offered to resurrect her in the first place? What was his motive? Surely not out of the kindness of his heart—Nico highly doubted Octavian possessed a drop of compassion in that cold, black heart of his.

Nico reached out and 'accidentally' led Octavian into a tree branch, allowing his coat to snag on a loose tree branch. And then he saw it and it all made sense.

Glinting in the concealed leather case inside Octavian's coat was a sharp silver blade with a bone handle. Nico stumbled back in surprise. "You're here to kill me," he said out loud before he could stop himself. An assassination attempt.

Octavian froze, glancing down to knife in his breast pocket, and slowly but surely, he withdrew it. "So pessimistic."

"It's my own death. I was hoping for eighteen," he mentioned as casually as he could.

"What a shame. I can't believe you thought I'd bring back that devil sister of yours for you. If I brought her back, it'd be to torture you." And he grinned. "You and your stupid family, you're all small hinders to my plans, and if I could just take you out, it'll all fall into place." He paused, as if savoring the moment.

Nico rolled his eyes; Langens always had a certain taste for theatrics. "I'm guessing this is where you try to kill me?" he suggested, shrugging his small shoulders. "Tsk. You really shouldn't expose your deadly plans _before_ executing them. Makes you seem like an amateur."

Octavian growled and Nico pulled his long Stygian sword out without another thought. It was second nature. He had known for a long time that his head would always be on the chopping block as the youngest King, and this was no different. Except it was. Expect everything was different because this was _Octavian_ , and those tricky Langens always had something up their sleeves.

Nico sighed in resignation. "You can come out now." He wasn't sure who he was talking to, but sure enough, two shadows stepped out, one hidden behind a particularly thick-trunked pine tree, and the other landing gracefully from the treetops. He was outnumbered by Octavian and his goons.

"Eighteen is certainly wishful thinking," one of Octavian's men smirked, and Nico laughed.

"I've never been called that before—wishful." He smiled wryly.

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Octavian reasoned, and the brunet on his left beamed. "And a last, too." Slowly, they encroached on his space, and Nico knew with a certainty that he would fight his hardest and if he was to die, he would die fighting.

His own life was worthless in his own eyes, but back at camp, he had an angry blond waiting for him, and in Octavian's clutches was the power to mess with life and death, and the brains behind his entire operation—Miss Chase, and back home, far, far away, his favorite people in the world would be waiting for his return: old Queen Persephone and King Hades.

His loved ones were worth every bit of blood he paid to make it out alive, and he'd be damned if he didn't.

…

Nico curled his hand into a fist and aimed for the front of his nose. His knuckles made contact with the bridge of Octavian's nose. His blood splattered all over the dew-covered, green grass. Octavian hit him in return, and the King tasted blood.

"Come on, _King_ , get up," Octavian mocked. "Get up and fight." The black haired-boy next to him slammed his hand into Nico's ribs and he winced, the pain rippling across his chest. "Focus," Octavian encouraged, and Nico licked his salty lips, running over the cuts and bruises methodically.

Octavian's brunet goon slashed his broadsword, and the arching shot sliced the fabric of Nico's shirt at the midsection. It missed the flesh behind it by perhaps a centimeter. Octavian swung in turn, and this time it ate flesh, tearing into Nico's smooth chest with ragged cuts.

Nico was already on the ground, his head throbbing—he was sure he had a concussion—the original bone-handled blade of Octavian's lodged tightly into the tree bark behind his head. He let out a shuddery breath, fighting to stay awake as they went in turn, hitting him each with satisfying cracks and squelches. His black iron sword was pinned in the grass a few feet away. He was pleased to see that Octavian's brown-haired friend was badly injured, maybe even more than Nico, but Octavian and the other back-up were relatively okay, just adorned with a few cuts and bruises, only one on Octavian's arm deep enough to cause real damage.

Nico was one of the best sword-fighters of their generation, especially considering his age. He was said to rank alongside Perseus and Luke, the infamous sword-wielding brothers, but Langens were on God status for battle. They could make a weapon out of a tree branch, motivated by their pure, sick love for killing and maiming.

Nico's head lolled back against the tree as a fist collided with the side of his face. Pain shot up his jaw like it was on fire, and he was sure they had broken his jaw with a million other pieces of him. But they would never break him, not until he was dead, which was starting to look better and better for his opponents now.

He spit, the pooling blood in his mouth dark against a headstone. "You were always into torture, sick bastard," Nico insulted, sneering in disgust. They gutted him like a fish, putting another dagger into his thigh and Nico saw stars.

"Big talk for your position," Octavian taunted, but Nico did his best to turn the tables. He had two options at that moment: leave the dagger in, keep the blood from coming out and suffering extreme blood loss and a resulting guaranteed death or painfully remove Octavian's weapon from himself, bleed to death, but manage to fight back. He hoped he was making the right decision. He could see Hades now in his head, inspecting him with dark eyes and a sealed mouth. _Hades, give me strength._

He pulled the dagger out, and so began his clock, his blood rapidly exiting his body. Nico blindly swung, and struck gold. The dark-haired minion cried out and fell back as Nico stabbed and removed a blade in the side of his head. He passed out, dying in an instant from the puncture in his brain.

And then it was two.

"It was always meant to be me and you," Octavian whispered, and pulled out his more weapons as Nico dove for his sword off to the right.

…

Was it just him or was the sky starting to get darker?

"Why aren't you dead yet?" Octavian snapped, and upon closer examination, Nico was pleased to see that Octavian was roughed up now.

"I ask myself the same question every day," Nico cheerfully retorted. Octavian screamed in frustration, slamming Nico's head against a headstone.

"That's not very lawful," Nico managed to whisper, his eyes closed. He couldn't feel anything anymore; there was just so much pain and everywhere too. It had bloomed across his body like a bloody rose.

"You should've died instead of your sister. I bet it haunts you every night," Octavian tried to goad him into a fight, but Nico just kept fighting steadily and slowly. He was bigger now, he had grown, he was not affected by Octavian's childish attempts to make him fail. He had one goal, and it was to make it out alive.

Octavian slammed him into another headstone, cracking the stone in two, and probably something in Nico's head as well. Then it all went black as the night sky.

…

Nico squinted at the sky. It was turning orange now or was that just his imagination? He wasn't sure how long it'd been since he'd passed out, only that he was sure he had blacked out. There wasn't much he could've done to stop it. Three against one was hardly fair, and he was surprised he was awake now. He was sure that had been it.

Dazedly, Nico sat up, his skull splitting at the seams. He tried to clutch his head, but his left arm was dangling uselessly at his side. Nico threw up, and he felt even sicker when he realized blood was coming with his vomit too; that was never a good sign.

Octavian was nowhere to be seen. But he wouldn't have just left unless he was sure Nico was dead, would he have?

Nico reached up slowly with his right hand, albeit shakily. He grazed his throat with the fingertips of his hand and it came back scarlet red. Now he was trembling beyond comparison. Was this the afterlife? Was it over? Octavian had slit his throat, no doubt, so how could he be alive? Were they, whoever controlled this damned life, keeping him alive just to torture him?

Every part of him felt like it was on fire. His hand felt like it was burning with the blood of his throat. Dragging himself out of the graveyard with the right side of his body, Nico felt the overwhelming desire to give up and just lay there to die, but _no._ Annabeth _needed_ him; he was the only one who knew what Octavian was up to, who knew that they were messing with things beyond them, and it couldn't possibly end well.

He couldn't save his sister, but he would not fail Annabeth too. She was his second chance, one he'd seeked for so long.

Nico couldn't speak, afraid his throat would give in with Octavian's deep cut and finally drown him in his own blood, but he had a working right arm that he would use to his full advantage. After painstakingly hauling himself to the Amazon base—a two-hour's worth journey by crawling and dragging through the mud— he found himself under the pale blue sky under the cool morning sun shivering at the South border.

Nico slammed a bloody handprint against the window, and a girl no more than fifteen screamed so loud that Nico's head began its ever splitting headache all over again. Guilt laced his soul; he hadn't meant to frighten her, and he was positive he didn't look so great. She'd probably experience night terrors for months from his appearance alone.

She pressed a red alert button, probably not recognizing him immediately—he was covered in mud and blood and everything in between—and even if she thought he was an intruder, that was okay. They would bring him to the center of the Amazons, and someone would recognize him immediately, and he could fix this mess Annabeth had gotten herself in.

Exhausted, Nico promptly passed out for the third time in the last twenty-four hours.

* * *

**Piper**

"Please, have a seat."

Piper quietly sat across from him, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap. She had not seen Malcolm in what seemed like years. She had probably last seen him at the original ball that started this all.

"It's been a while," Malcolm noted, voicing her thoughts. They fell into an awkward silence.

"How's Athena doing?" Piper initiated the small talk.

"She sent me a letter once she reached India," Malcolm mentioned. "She seems to be well, though with her it's always hard to tell."

Piper nodded. "And how about yourself? A representative of Epresh now, huh?"

Malcolm nodded too. "It's been… _educational._ Very strange, though, this whole democratic thing, but I can see why my sister adores it. Speaking of which, how _is_ my baby sister? She's always sworn in secrecy and highly unmotivated to tell me much of anything." He blinked, and Piper shifted uncomfortably. She was sure he'd intended for it to be a joke, but with the Ashingtons it was always hard to tell. Their sense of humor was peculiar. Regardless, she wasn't laughing now.

Piper bit her bottom lip. "That's what I've come to talk to you about. She's gone."

"Gone?" Malcolm's head shot up. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Octavian," Piper's voice trembled at his name, still fragile after Jason. Thalia was not faring well back at the base either.

"The Langen boy?" Malcolm frowned. "What about him?"

"He took her," Piper whispered.

Malcolm was stunned silent. "Why?"

Piper shook her head. "We don't know. All we know is that he's locked her up in that cruel hospital that he owns."

Malcolm stared, dumbfounded. "That's _his_ jail?"

Piper slowly nodded yes.

"That prick!" Malcolm gruffly cried out, slamming his palms against the table. "What do we do?" His eyes were wide and she was reminded of Annabeth in the few times the blonde had found something to fear. It was frightening even to witness.

"That depends on Nico," Piper mumbled.

"Nico?"

She sighed in resignation and began to explain the largely complicated events of the past few, chaotic days.

* * *

**Drew**

"I don't want to meet your toy." She went to slam the door in his face, but Octavian stuck his foot in, wedging it between the doorframe. Drew could feel Cecily's gaze on her from behind—she was draped on the bed, her red hair mussed. Eager to leave Octavian behind, Drew scowled at the man in front of her.

"Don't be such a killjoy," he huffed.

Drew eyed his cuts and bruises. Her favorite was the bandage around the stab in his abdomen. "She do that to you?" She jutted her chin to his injury.

Octavian wistfully stared blankly past her, and Drew rolled her eyes. "I wish."

"Idiot. Who'd you battle? A squirrel?" She smirked.

"No one important," Octavian replied stiffly.

"Are they dead?"

"Of course," Octavian scoffed. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"I do, actually," Drew answered thoughtfully.

"You're not so useful that I won't kill you. Watch your mouth," Octavian threatened.

"I'm not scared of you."

"Yes, but if you want Cecily alive, I would be," Octavian retorted.

"She won't do it!" Drew called after him as he stormed away.

"Excuse me?" He spun on his heels, pausing a few feet away.

"Annabeth," Drew clarified. "I know what you want, and I also know she will die if she has to, but she will say no."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Octavian accused, but he seemed unsure.

"Don't I?" Drew could see Cecily slipping off her silk gown through the mirror's reflection out of the corner of her eye. It was _very_ distracting. That little minx—she _knew_ what she was doing.

"I'll be back," Octavian promised. "And it'll be all as I wanted all along."

"If you think so." The Raya shrugged, and slammed the door closed, just as harshly and satisfactorily as she'd wanted for so long. _He's delusional,_ she decided, and hastily locked the door behind her.

"Who was that?" Cecily tiredly asked, suspicious.

"Nobody," Drew lied, her heart pounding in her chest. Cecily couldn't know what she'd done to Annabeth, tactfully guiding her right into the hands of her captor. Cecily looked doubtful. "Nobody important."

* * *

**Annabeth**

"I'm not crazy," she whispered to herself for the 107th time. Or had it been 108? She would have to start all over now. Her nails were black with dirt under them, her hairline had begun bleeding, but she wasn't sure when or even how. She suspected her sinister scraping had caused the injury. It was okay. She didn't feel it anyways.

"There you are. It's been so long."

Annabeth squinted up at the intruder. Had he always been so busted up? Her stomach twisted and she prayed he hadn't acquired more hostages.

"They would be proud of me now," Octavian assured himself at her look of disdain. "The gods will bless me, and if you were smart, you'd understand. You wouldn't fight this change, this era."

Annabeth's anger had not left her, but it had diminished, replaced by something that resembled pity. Octavian knew what he was doing was wrong, like Luke, but they were different in one way. Octavian _truly_ believed he would be rewarded for 'saving humankind.' How could one be angry at sheer ignorance, at naivety, at misinformation?

"The gods aren't real," Annabeth whispered, though now she wavered. As much as she hated herself for thinking so, it was such a relief to have some contact. Octavian checked on her at least every other day, and when he hadn't seen her in at least four days (or so she guessed; time was difficult when imprisoned), she began to worry her lip, anxiety hitting her at full force.

"Are they?" Octavian's face didn't change. "Or are they simply not with you?"

She hesitated. She was a sinner, and if they ignored her presence, she couldn't say she would've blamed them. "No, they aren't real. Look around us, look at the kingdoms going up in flames, and at the people who suffer, the dead, the children, the innocent spilled on the sand. If they were real, the gods would care. And if they don't care, then they are no gods of mine." At least _that_ much she was certain of.

Octavian scoffed. "You're wrong. The gods are real and they will come down someday soon to see all I've accomplished."

He was delusional, she decided. "Why would they have remained hidden in the clouds for so long if they were real?"

"They have been waiting till this moment," Octavian proposed, pausing carefully before thinking some more.

Annabeth shook her head at the ground.

"Do you have something to say?" he demanded at the look on her face.

"No."

"Spit it out," he ordered. There was a moment of silence before she spoke, albeit carefully.

"I believe… if the gods truly exist, then… regardless if it's one man or twenty…" she murmured to herself.

"Spit it out!" It was more aggressive now. Octavian picked her up by the chains and Annabeth refrained from whimpering in pain as the cold, jagged metal sliced into her rough skin.

"God stays in heaven because he too fears what he has created!" she panted, locking eyes with him. "Put me down."

"The gods love us," he argued, angry at her statement. "You say so because you have no faith in the divine!"

She half-heartedly shrugged her shoulders, wincing as he threw her back to the ground. Faith was a rare reward in their world. "You'll see, someday," she promised, and it wasn't meant to be a threat. "Someday, Octavian Geve."

…

He had said yes.

"What do you think?" Octavian glanced at her with cold, calculating eyes as she skimmed the tall chalkboard of math and science. The writing was scrawny, and Annabeth was sure it couldn't have been Octavian's work—no, it was much too complex.

"It's… incredible," she answered honestly. "And this… this is what your monsters are? Failed experiments?"

"They are," Octavian stated proudly, and Annabeth frowned. It was cruel to experiment on living creatures, but she could not deny her excitement in the furthering of science.

"What are you trying to figure out with all this math? What could have possibly had such caustic effects that we have ancient Greek monsters on the rampage?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder," Octavian snapped. "Now, are you going to make yourself useful and find the flaw, or should I lock you up again?"

Annabeth's eyes darted to the chains around her wrists. He had released her feet for this, had let her out of that goddamn room, and there was no way in hell she would go back. "No! No," she amended. "Give me a moment." Perspiration rolled down the back of her neck, the nerves getting to her as she hastily scanned the messy work.

Her brain went into overtime, threatening to start a fire with the friction, and her thumb rubbed absentmindedly against her palm as she invisibly traced the steps of the large sums.

"Chalk," she demanded. It was risky to work for a sick bastard, but what choice did she have? This was her one source of information. She wrote fast, the sound screeching across the dark green board, chalk dust coating the tips of her fingers. She wasn't sure how long she'd been here, but the intellectual stimulation was exhilarating; she had missed it too much. Octavian watched in silent amusement, and what she suspected was thinly concealed awe.

"You're—," she halted. "Impossible." She gaped up at the tall wall in silent amazement. She spun on him. "You're—you're discovering immortality." And then she fell back against the board, staggering in surprise. The chalk fell to the floor, shattering in two pieces and sending chalk dust all across the floor like stars.

Octavian looked smug. But this was morally wrong, and Annabeth felt that she would be sick, but not because Octavian was on the path to playing the part of god, but because she wasn't as scared as she should've been. The temptation of power always tugged at her, but this was too much, and it hit too close to home.

"You would be the most powerful man of all time," she whispered, dazedly looking back up at the writing. "So…" she studied the science. He was taking the _Turritopsis dohrnii_ jellyfish and trying to mesh their genes with other animals, thus creating rabid monsters. The _Turritopsis dohrnii_ jellyfish had a neat party trick: when it faced some kind of environmental stress, like starvation or injury, it could revert back to the state of a small drop of tissue, which then changed back into the sexually immature polyp phase of life. It was like a butterfly turning back into a caterpillar, or a frog shaping back into a tadpole. The jellyfish weren't truly immortal—they could still be eaten by predators or killed by other methods—but their ability to manipulate their life cycle was incomparable to the majority of species'.

"You're using two!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "Lobsters…" she stared at the diagram. "Their endless supply of the telomerase enzyme allows them to maintain youthful DNA indefinitely," she realized.

Octavian rolled his eyes. "I know what I'm doing, Annabeth. Tell me what I'm doing _wrong,_ " he hissed.

Annabeth hesitated. There was only one more organism she knew of that possessed traits like this. If he tried it, though, she was afraid it wouldn't work just as much as she feared its success. But he caught her expression before she could hide it.

"You figured it out."

Guilt flashed across her face. This was a mistake; she should _not_ have convinced him to let her help. In a split second, she ran for the door.

"Stop her!" Octavian ordered. His guards leapt into action, trapping her in the room.

"I want to go back!" Annabeth cried. "I'll take the torture, I'll quietly give in," she promised, desperate.

"No," Octavian laughed. "You wanted to know so badly, and now you've solved it for me. You _will_ tell me."

"I won't!"

"You will." He grinned. "Or I'll kill more."

"More?" she hesitated.

"Nico's dead."

Annabeth froze, all images of immortality and secrets flying out of her head. It was a punch to the gut. Annabeth fell to her knees, her brain spinning with pictures of a young kid with dark hair and a perpetual frown. It couldn't be true… it just couldn't. Tears pricked at her eyes. But Octavian had been beat up badly. Who else could've put up such a fight? She didn't even have it in her to cry, fully submitted to a silent grief.

"And your dear Perseus will be next if you don't cooperate."

She didn't know if he was lying anymore, but she had no doubt that he was capable of anything. She hung her head like a shamed pet, tears streaming down her cheeks in quiet disbelief.

"So? Which way do you choose?" Octavian taunted. The guards' tough gloves were leaving red imprints on her wrists, but she was numb to the pain.

"The jellyfish's cousin," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "The _Hydra_."

"Yes?" he eagerly encouraged. Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut, pained.

"They look similar to the polyp stage of the jellyfish, given that they're both grouped in the phylum Cnidaria. It has a tubular body with a tentacle-ringed mouth at one end and an adhesive foot at the other. They stay in freshwater ponds or rivers and use their stinging tentacles to grab any prey that swims past."

Octavian leaned forward.

"They don't go through senescence at all." Annabeth had began crying now, and her words were garbled. She was signing away the life of so many to save Percy. She hadn't been quick enough for Nico. _She'd_ brought him to the Amazons. It was all her fault again. Her head was pounding.

"How so?" Octavian pressed. "That's impossible."

"No. Instead of gradually deteriorating over time, a _Hydra's_ stem cells have the capacity for infinite self-renewal." She didn't want to say the next part.

"So what gene is it? What should I insert?"

Annabeth bitterly wept, haunted by the memory of her old friend.

"Pay attention, woman!" Octavian jerked her head back with her curls, and Annabeth felt like the world was crumbling beneath her. "The gene. _Now."_

"I don't know!" the blonde lied. "I don't know it!"

"Your stupid Prince! It's _his_ head on the block; choose your words wisely!"

"FoxO," she gasped. "It keeps them regenerating. Please don't kill him," she begged, and she was acutely alert that she had never begged like this before. "You killed him." She put her face in her hands, hysterical as Octavian loomed over her. But he had found his answer, and she had sold her soul away with it.

* * *

**Will**

He shot up in his bed, aroused from his restless sleep by a warm hand. "Will!" a feminine voice hissed out at the crack of dawn. He squinted up at the figure, befuddled as to why _Kayla Knowles_ was in his cabin.

"Hello?" His confusion slowly faded, though, when he saw the desperate look on her face. "What happened?" he demanded.

"It's Nico," she panted like she'd run the entire way. Immediately, his entire body was set aflame.

"What?" He couldn't believe his own ears. Already, he was lacing up his shoes, ready to run.

"He arrived this morning—I don't understand what he's saying. He's just blubbering a bunch of random stuff and Thalia's fetching Percy as we speak. He knows him well, but I figured you'll be able to decipher the rubbish coming out of his mouth even better. And besides, he won't stop asking for you. I suspect he's going to go into a coma soon; the blows to his head are brutal." Kayla shook her head. Every word was a stab to Will's heart.

Together, Kayla leading the way, they ran over the hills and fields to the South infirmary.

Will burst into the doors first, his blood pressure probably off the charts will all the worry eating away at his insides. "Oh my _god."_ He had let him walk out. He had let him drive himself to his near-death experience. Guilt wracked Will's body. He would never leave his side again if he even _got_ the chance to try again. Bile rose in his throat. No, he _had_ to have a second chance, it couldn't be too late. "Please," he whispered despite himself, hanging his head. Will fell to his bedside, sick to his stomach.

…

Nico coughed real ugly, and Will felt panic building in his chest. He could _not_ lose him, he _refused._ Will would make a motherfucking deal with Satan himself to keep Nico here with him forever.

"I'm bleeding a lot." Nico smiled like a ghost, and fear pricked Will's heart.

"Shhh, I know. I know, Nico. I'm going to fix you."

"I told you not to fix me," he whispered, raspily, a half-grimace, half-smiling curving at the corner of his whitened lips.

Will had only cried in the presence of a dying person once or twice before in his life. One had been his own father, a horrifying memory he tried to forget, but could not, try as he might. And the other had been a mother, lost in childbirth, leaving her son an orphan. He strongly believed that his own tears only sparked fear in his patients and it was hardly professional. He had come a long way since then, learning to mask his emotions for the sake of those he gave his blood and sweat to. The tears would only come after, when his tears couldn't hurt them any more than death did. But with Nico _dying,_ he was fucking _dying_ in his arms, Will felt himself splitting at the seams because it wasn't supposed to end like this. Nico was supposed to live happily ever after.

Tears of betrayal welled in his tear ducts, and Will swiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt pathetically. "They're trying to find some plants, Nico. We should have some dried and stored somewhere. Every emergency room in a palace should," he whispered reassuringly. But they were not in a palace, but instead a land of robbers and rebels with good intentions. Much to his relief, two minutes later, a nurse ran in with the flower petals, shriveled and dry, in her hand.

Nico's pulse flickered and Will thought he was going to die for a moment. His throat closed up horribly. Working quickly, working off pure adrenaline, Will crushed the flower petals in his fist, hastily sprinkling it over Nico's fatal wound. He applied pressure, his hands shaking more and more with more of the blood touching his gloves. It burned to feel Nico bleeding all over him, like it was holy water on his impure soul.

"Colocasia Carolinensis," Nico mumbled, drowsily. He was losing blood too fast; Will choked back a sob, his heart squeezing tightly inside his chest. When Nico almost died, he nearly died himself.

"Yes." He sniveled pitifully. "Of course _you_ would remember my dumb ramblings." Will started crying because there really was _nothing_ he could do anymore except pray the flowers would work and sit aside and watch the love of his life lose his life before him. A nearby nurse took over, deeming the head healer incapicated by his inner pain.

Nico's hand felt cold and lifeless in his own. The Prince's eyelids were heavy as he fought not to fall asleep.

"Don't you dare, di Angelo," Will begged. "You're supposed to outlive me." He covered his own mouth to muffle his hiccups. "You're supposed to argue with me some more." He was dimly aware of nurses pulling him back, whispering comforting words that provided no comfort in a moment like this. "You're supposed to tell me I'm stupid, and steal my doctor's coat, and hate mornings, and Mondays, and bright colors, and the sun. You're supposed to wake up right now and I have to shoot an arrow through your heart. Because you're a melodramatic, tragic hero, you're my fucking Gatsby, and you live for your causes and you have to die for your causes." He rarely cursed, but he was desperate. "You're supposed to have a stupid cigarette in your mouth that I have to smack out and save you because I'm supposed to save you, _always."_

"Will," Kayla's voice broke through his plummeting world. "Will, you have to let him go."

Will had always thought of himself as a rather calm guy. He had never been easy to anger, a gentle soul at heart, but Kayla's words tipped him over the edge.

"Let him go!" he exploded, shattering into a million pieces. He was well aware he was making a ruckus. Nico's eyes had long closed. "Let him go," he echoed. "I can't, don't you understand? I _can't_ let him go. Everybody else let him go: Bianca let him go, his parents let him go, Perseus let him go, he let _himself_ go, I will _not_. I can't." Will was inconsolable, hysterical.

"Will!" Kayla slapped his hand, _hard_. His knuckles shifted into an angry shade of red. "I meant his hand! You're hurting him!"

 _Him? Hurting Nico? Never… never._ Will glared down at their interlocked hands through his blurred vision. Relenting quietly, he loosened the grip, but he dared not let go.

"I'm sorry," Will croaked, stroking the side of Nico's face with his scarred hands, however they trembled. He knew Nico couldn't hear him.

"Will, I'm kicking you out," Kayla demanded. He blinked stray tears out of his eyelashes.

"Kicking me out?"

"Yes," she said sternly. "You're freaking the medics out. They can't do their goddamn job while you're having a mental breakdown."

Will blinked, the waterworks building up again. Kayla's expression softened, her sympathetic side taking over. "I was supposed to save him, Kayla." His voice was hoarse from crying his guts out. His head hurt.

"C'mon, hon. Let's get you a cup of tea."

"Nico likes coffee," Will miserably whispered to himself, a shell of man, staring at Nico, white as the bedsheets as the medics scurried about like little mice.

"Coffee, then," Kayla acquiesced, guiding him out of the infirmary. Will didn't answer, finally quiet.


	23. An Offer She Could Definitely Refuse

**Percy**

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Percy felt stupid talking to an unconscious Nico, but the nurse had said that they really didn't know whether Nico could hear anything in his comatose state, so he could try talking to him if he'd like. Perhaps it would coax di Angelo out of his position faster, or maybe it wouldn't do anything at all, but it was worth a shot. Besides, with all the craziness and loneliness his life had delved into, Percy found a strange comfort in something, or rather _someone_ , steady he'd known for so long.

The Calbournes had never really been deep-rooted friends with the Pevanshires like the Ashingtons, favoring the Rayas instead, but there was something about Nico that had always kept them close ever since he himself had been five, Nico three, and the little Pevanshire had possessed the audacity to walk up to him in his small, dark button-up and tell him he was throwing the knives all wrong.

Percy half-smiled at the now bittersweet memory. There were dark circles under Nico's eyes and a cool washcloth on his forehead, but all Percy could concentrate on was how gaunt and pale his face had become through the years, a stark contrast from the healthy olive tone he'd had when he was younger, and how it appeared that even in a coma, Nico was tensing his jaw.

"I know your secret, Ghost King," Percy whispered, watching him intently, even though he fully well knew that Nico wouldn't be awakening any time soon. "I know you're a worrier even if you like to pretend nothing touches you up there." He hesitated. "Must be lonely to be by yourself on that pedestal. I know how it feels," he softly added, sympathetic.

Percy slumped in his seat, bone-weary. The imprisonment of Annabeth had taken everything from him.

"You're like a little brother to me too with Luke, you know? Malcolm was older than me, so I never felt that with him. Besides, those Ashingtons are scary, aren't they? But you, you kept to yourself, and I sort of respected that. It was much better than my step-mother with her cruel tricks and nosy attitude. And Sally always liked you, and she's never been wrong about anyone in my entire life," he murmured gently.

Percy's hand reached out and as if on its own, affectionately brushed Nico's long, dark hair out of his eyes. His face felt cold, but then again, Nico always seemed cold these days.

Percy regretted not talking to him more. He'd been so caught up in Amazon issues, watching his half-brother's decisions on the news like a hawk, and stressing over pointless things that he'd entirely forgotten to check in with Nico, to cherish his old friends he hadn't seen in so long.

"Will's really worried about you, did you know? They had to forcefully send him out of your room out of fear that he would break your hand from his own worrying. I haven't seen him in days, but I think I'll check on him later since you can't. For you," Percy promised.

"I'm worried about you too," the dark-haired man confessed. "He beat you real bad. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. And Will, I never realized you'd made such a loyal friend. You've always been so antisocial… I'm proud of you. I heard you'd said some crap about three men before you conked out. That was pretty brave, Neeks. I always knew you were a good fighter, but you held your own for so long, and they found the bodies in the graveyard of the two men, which is just… I know you'd love the irony. You killed them good, kid. Just wish I could've helped you. We'd have been unstoppable. I wish you hadn't gone off alone because I want you to know that you never have to face anything alone."

Percy let out a sigh of resignation. "I know it's been hard, kiddo. It's been hard on me too." He'd subconsciously taken Nico's hand in his own. "I miss my mom more than anything else, but I know I can't go running back to her and drag her killer back to her. I want to see this mysterious sister of mine before she thinks of me as a deadbeat or something, but I can't. I miss my father, too. Weird, isn't it?" He chuckled humorlessly.

"I always thought I hated him a little—and I still do—but I loved him a lot more. He was there for me when my mom left, you know? So was Silena, but that's different. It's different when it's your family friend, and when it's actually your blood. I can't ever… I can't ever forget that moment, Nico. It haunts me every day, knowing that it's _his_ blood on my hands. I killed my own father, Nico, and I honestly… I don't know how to deal with it. And I don't understand how you left your family behind so easily. Hades is a good man and I know, deep down, you love him like how I love my father. Persephone's hilarious, and she's nice under all that craziness. Speaking of which, whatever happened with Lady Kane? I heard you fled before you were married. I'm glad. You're too young to have to deal with that shit."

Percy could already imagine Nico reaching over and smacking him on the head for subtly calling him young and small. "You've got a lot of fight in that small body," Percy amended, pretending that Nico had called him out for his bullshit.

"Anyone else caught your eye here at the base? I know you're friends with Will and Reyna, though I don't think she likes me very much, with good reason of course, but there's plenty of nice people here, so I thought maybe your new branching out into the social scene would've landed you with a new interest."

In his head, Nico was rolling his eyes, snarkily replying that everyone here sucked, and that he sucked too.

"Nico, do me a favor. Wake up real soon, okay? Your friends needs you, and I miss you a hell of a lot more than I ever got to tell you. Alright?" Nico obviously didn't reply. Percy rubbed his temples with growing frustration and unhappiness.

He knew nobody was listening, giving the two of them privacy in Nico's little infirmary room, but Percy still shied away from expressing his feelings so blatantly. He had been raised to be different, just like Nico. What were feelings, anyways?

Percy reluctantly pulled his hand away, feeling more alone than ever. Solidarity had once been his best friend, but this was a fresh layer he had never intended to dive so deep into, and what had once comforted him tortured him beyond anything he'd ever known.

"I'll be back in a few hours," Percy promised. He would guard Nico with his life now. "Don't go anywhere," he half-heartedly mused, his expression turning dark as he stood up. _Soon you'll get better_ , Percy thought to himself, assuring himself more than anyone else. _Because you have to._ "I'm going to go talk to Reyna. I have a promise to follow through with."

Yes… Annabeth… he didn't even know if she was still alive. He would make it so.

Folding his hands behind his back politely, just like a true royal with manners ingrained in his very blood cells, he stepped out of Nico's chamber, softly shutting the door behind him and sealing in Nico and their shared memories in that depressing room for one.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Octavian had locked her back up again, partially because now that he'd used her enough, he wouldn't be needing her until he ran into his next road block in his quest to dominate life and death itself, and also because she had completely shut down.

What he didn't know was that his white torture didn't even hold a candle to the knowledge that Nico was dead. Annabeth had broken down so many times in the past few days that she'd lost count, lost in her mourning. Her hope had already been small locked in here, but now whatever had been left of that spark had diminished entirely, vanishing into thin air.

For some reason, Annabeth found herself thinking back to Luke. The Boy King was messed up, there was no denying it, but Octavian was just… cruel. Tears pricked at her eyes, even when she'd thought she had run out of tears to cry. For a moment, she even imagined being Luke's possession instead of Octavian's. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. Would she really have chosen to be enslaved by the Calbourne lite instead of the maniacal Langen? The answer, she knew deep down, was a resounding yes.

At least Luke never made her feel worthless. Stupid? Yes. Broken? Of course. A little like a monster, a little too much like him? Disturbingly yes. But never worthless, never like a child. He was the lesser of the two evils, as surprising as it seemed. Octavian had taken so much from her, including Jason and Nico—two of her favorite people in the entire world.

At least when Luke had kissed her so long ago, when they'd both been little, when Medusa had been whispering in his ear unbeknownst to her, he had meant it, at least a little.

Annabeth began to feel queasy, a bit like nauseated like she could throw up then. She was treading into dangerous territory, remembering Luke here on her own without Percy to keep her head screwed on straight.

The blonde buried her face in her hands, mimicking the position she'd curled into at the initial news of Nico's demise. _One step at a time, Chase. One breath at a time._ She inhaled, then exhaled, then repeated again and again and again and again and again until the anxiety began to ease. And then she did so some more, coaching herself through the deterioration of the tidbits left of her sanity.

…

"How's my favorite Princess doing?" the familiar voice crooned, entering the room with swift ease.

He looked too happy and Annabeth's stomach started folding in on itself immediately. She hoped he hadn't killed anyone else recently. She didn't even have it in her to glare at him. She laid, limply dangling with the chains, like a fluid heap of mistakes personified.

"No answer? That's new. Usually you have an excellent verbal joust with me on the daily. You feeling a little sick?" Octavian clicked his tongue, feigning sympathy.

Annabeth dug the heels of her palms into the backs of her eyes until she saw stars.

"You should be grateful I haven't robbed you of your memories yet," Octavian tortured.

Annabeth groaned, resisting the urge to plug her ears. Even listening to his voice was driving her mad. How ironic. The one time she wished for utter silence in a silent hospital Octavian wouldn't permit her peace. Of _course_ he wouldn't.

"You only preserve them to make me remember for all of eternity what I've been stolen from." Her voice was hoarser than she remembered, and she mildly realized it was probably a direct result of her seemingly endless stream of tears. She was parched, too, desperately lacking the fluids she'd lost in the amount of times she'd thrown up.

"My smart cookie," Octavian gleefully exclaimed. "So smart that you solved immortality."

His blows couldn't hit her anymore.

"Are you finally satisfied?" she asked, looking up at him with tired eyes. "Have you found your peace as the master of the universe? Is it enough?"

Octavian laughed at her, but she was too fatigued to burn with humiliation or spit back with the fire in her soul. It had long been extinguished.

"For you, it'll never be enough," she whispered, sorrowful. "Close, but no cigar. Your hands could hold the world, but it'll never be enough."

"Spare me your philosophies, _please,_ Princess." Octavian rolled his eyes. "I have a request for you."

"A request or a demand?" she asked no one in particular. Octavian ignored her.

"Be my Queen."

"A demand, then," Annabeth answered her own question, and then she froze when her brain actually processed what he'd said. "Excuse me?" Just when she thought he couldn't surprise her anymore, he did.

"You heard me."

Annabeth gaped at him. She was just his bait. His bait for Percy and the Amazons and anyone else of status he could capture. He, then, with whoever he was engaged to would bargain with Luke or another family because the Boy King, the royals, they would do anything to have Percy or her in their possession. He wanted her hand in marriage to tear the Amazons apart, to be celebrated.

Octavian, Annabeth had realized a while back, was as easy to read as an open book when it came to his motives. An amateur destined to fail like any other.

"No."

"Excuse me?" Octavian echoed. "I don't think you understand. I'm about to become the most powerful man in the world with the FoxO gene, and I'm offering you, a forgotten, downtrodden ex-Princess a chance to be on top of the world _with_ me instead of on the bottom."

"I said no," she repeated. This time she wasn't tempted. Even she had her limits, and Octavian had crossed the line a long time ago.

"You realize you're virtually worthless to me now? You've solved my issue. I could sell you off, but maybe I'll execute you, just for the fun of it. You'll want to take my offer."

"Your demand," Annabeth corrected again.

"Is this because of those two boys I hurt? Really, Ashington, you're going to have to let that go."

"You _murdered_ Nico and Jason, and besides, I'd rather die."

"Still haven't broken, I see," Octavian commented.

She offered a tired, yet wry smile. "I did say you'd never break me."

"Indeed you did." Octavian looked thoughtful. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm even _considering_ marrying you in all your low status?"

"No," she disclosed. "I already know. I know you like the back of my hand, though I wish I didn't."

"Huh." Octavian mulled over her statement. "Well, then I've decided. Steel yourself for a public execution a week from now."

"You're waiting a week? For what? Dramatic build-up?" She shook her head, resigned to even trying with him.

"I'm a very busy man," was all he said. He paused like he was waiting for her to change her mind, but she didn't.

"I'm sure you are," she told him what he wanted to hear. "I'll see you a week from now, then." She had never thought she'd be so cool under this pressure. She was set to _die_ soon, and still she couldn't find it within her to feel fear, to allow him to ruffle her feathers.

"You're making a mistake," Octavian warned. "I'll give you one last chance." There was silence, and Annabeth just stared blankly at him.

"No, I don't think I am." She was sure this time, and it was so freeing to know that at least her last decision would be the right one. "You may go."

Octavian's ears flushed red. " _You_ do not dismiss _me._ You are _my_ property."

She shrugged. "Okay."

Cussing, Octavian left the room, and Annabeth folded into herself, replaying every beautiful moment in her life, starting with her older brother, all through Nico, all up until the moment she'd last touched Percy's hand before the doors shut, sealing her in with her inevitable fate.

It would be a long week, the longest of her life, but she could wait. If there was one thing that imprisonment had taught her, it was patience.

If the gods were real like Octavian thought, she was sure now that they were smiling down on her, that she was making them proud. Annabeth leaned back against the cold wall behind her and blocking out the lights, she allowed herself to let down her guard, drifting off to sleep for the first time in at least a week.

The lights couldn't bother her if she'd learned to shut them out, the voices couldn't nag her now that she'd become a master at quieting the screams in her head, the world couldn't touch her if she didn't care, and she had never cared less than she did now.

Percy had been right all along: she had been selfish, she'd grown from it, and she'd found her place in the oddest of circumstances. She had learned to accept death with open arms if it was for the right cause. Nobody said it was easy, but like all things that were worth something, it took time.

And after all, death was only the end of the story if you assumed the story was about you.

* * *

**Piper**

"You're not going alone," Piper declared, startling Percy.

"I beg your pardon?" He frowned at her.

Her fists balled up at her sides. "I know you're going after her. Take me with you," she pleaded.

Percy hesitated. "I—I can't. Reyna only approved five people. We can't afford to lose a large number for a rescue mission, according to her."

Piper visibly deflated. She was tired of hiding and feeling useless. Sure, she could talk, but that wasn't the only thing she was useful for. "Who all is going?"

Percy shrugged. "Me, obviously. Frank, Leo—the only other pilot besides myself, Kayla Knowles, and someone else I don't know. General Reyna's sister Hylla's new lieutenant, I believe. I've never met her before." Zoe had died long ago in his own cage.

"Not Thalia?" Piper wasn't surprised. "Someone needs to talk some sense into her. Those two have got to put their differences aside because right now we're all on the same side."

Percy shook his head. "I agree she's being unreasonably stubborn, but she's not in the wrong for once. What Annabeth said… she never even apologized. I won't blame Thalia for her anger." Thalia and Annabeth's argument had seemed so long ago.

"So?" Piper insisted. "Annabeth's going to die if somebody doesn't save her soon. Would she really hold her anger closer to her than a comrade's life?"

Percy deflated, and Piper immediately felt bad for grilling him. He must've been under a lot of stress lately. He didn't need this shit from her. "Apparently so."

Piper's mouth twisted down. "Tell Reyna that Frank's relieved of his duties. I got this."

"Piper?" His dark eyebrows knit together. "Are you sure?"

"Let's go, Prince. It's been you and me since the very beginning." Piper knew with a certainty that their fates had been tied since Aphrodite and Poseidon befriended each other as children. "It's only fitting that I'm there with you at what Octavian plans to be her end. Besides, she's my friend too."

"Still?" he inquired. Together, they walked across the green. Percy whispered something in Frank's ear that she didn't hear, but he slumped with relief. He had a girl here, Hazel, who would've been worrying over him. He was a peace activist; there was no need to force him into battle when Piper was equally capable.

"Of course still," Piper indignantly commented. She shot him a dirty look as they boarded the small jet. Leo was making preparations for later; they would leave tomorrow morning. Piper stocked weapons, careful not to injure herself.

"I'm just asking," he defended himself. "I thought after what happened with Grace, you'd have taken Thalia's side."

Piper's heart throbbed at the mention of Jason. "No," she refuted. "Thalia's out of her mind, and yes, I love her to death, but Annabeth doesn't deserve the fiery pits of hell. Maybe a slap upside the head, but not eternal damnation."

She studied Percy carefully. He was listening, though not looking at her. Percy had lines around her face from a lifetime of stress and worries, the toll his rank had taken on him as a former soon-to-be King with a psychopathic little brother on the loose. He must've felt responsible for so many mistakes, including Luke's dark path. And she'd heard of Nico too, beholden to an infirmary bed. There were dark circles under the Calbourne's eyes.

"Perseus?"

"Percy," he corrected out of habit.

"Okay," she agreed. "Percy?"

"Mhmm?" He was staring at some charts on a clipboard, his eyes glazing over with exhaustion.

"When did you last sleep?"

Now he looked up at her. "I don't know," he admitted. "Is it that bad?" He offered a half-smile, but she could see right through it.

"Pretty much." If she looked at him in the right light, Piper could see what Annabeth saw. Honestly, anyone could. Now all she saw was how he'd paled over time, how fragile he seemed like a baby bird shivering in the rain.

"That's a damn shame." He stared back at the paper.

"I think you should go take a nap. You'll need your strength tomorrow," Piper advised.

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "A _nap?_ I'm not three, McLean."

She shook her head. "I'm serious, Percy."

"Me too. I've got so much work to do before we can leave tomorrow." He gestured to the ship they were on.

"I can do it. What's left? Check the hardware and engines? Leo's got that." She pointed to the Latino boy, engrossed in the pilot's seat with the control panel. "Pack supplies and write out a plan? I can pack stuff; that's not hard. And I'm not a genius, but I'm sure between the two of us, Hylla's lieutenant and I can sort out a plan. Kayla will grab all the medicine and first aid she needs. We can do this just fine, Percy. Go." She practically wrenched the clipboard out of his hand.

"But—but I want to make sure," he protested.

" _Percy,"_ she stressed.

"Fine!" He carded his fingers through his hair. "I hate this," he admitted.

"I know," Piper acknowledged. "But I think this'll be good for you."

"Call me if you need anything," he added as she practically shoved him out of the flying vehicle.

"I won't need anything," she assured him once he was outside.

"Are you sure—"

"Percy!"

"Jesus, woman, I'm going! God, you're like my mother." Percy froze in his retreat, his shoulders tensing at the mention of his mother. Piper had never heard him talk of her. Sally, the dead Queen.

"Hey," she began, reaching out to comfort him, but he brushed off her fingers.

"Don't," he gritted out, folding into himself. He wasn't angry at her, only himself, she knew, but it didn't make it hurt any less. But this wasn't about her.

"Sorry."

Percy sighed, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. "You don't need to apologize," he promised, stalking off to his cabin to sleep or obsess over details of Sally, she didn't know anymore. Piper watched him go, sympathy overtaking her. Once he'd disappeared from her view, she sprung into action, following Percy's checklist dutifully.

* * *

**Will**

There was a gentle rapping against his door. Will flinched, staring down at the cold, still full to the brim coffee cup in front of him. A thin film of milk had formed on the surface, and all he could think about was how Nico constantly complained about it. Will shivered at the memory, so vivid yet so far away, and stood up, opening the door like a zombie, like a routine he had grown eternally tired of.

He swung open the creaky door to reveal a tall, lean, dark-haired man with unique sea-green eyes that stood out in a crowd, one in a million. His first startling that had been that it was Nico—the dark hair had set him off—but the eyes had jolted him out of his little daydream. Of course it had been too good to be true.

"Your Highness," Will managed to choke out. Even in his sorriest of states, Will never forgot his manners.

Percy shrugged awkwardly. "You don't have to call me that."

Will stared at him blankly. "It's what I call Princess Ashington, still, and Princess Raya too."

"Not Nico?" Percy inquired softly.

"No," Will agreed.

"I'm glad he met you," Percy acknowledged after a moment.

Will leaned against the doorframe, unsure of how much Nico had told Percy, and even more unsure of where his relationship with Nico lay anyways, especially after their small falling-out. "Me too," was all he said, choosing to preserve Nico's secret just to be on the safer side. "Where are my manners?" Will realized, suddenly remembering that Percy was just dawdling on his doorstep. "Come in, Your Highness, please." He moved to the side, gesturing for the older man to enter.

Percy cringed at what Will assumed was the title, but cautiously entered nonetheless. Will grimaced as he shut the door, all his muscles aching.

"What brings you here, Sir?" He motioned for Percy to take a seat. "Coffee?" Will offered, recoiling at the stale coffee left out on the counter. Percy was staring at it like it explained a lot, which Will, of course, knew that it was a direct reflection of his mental state. His mouth twisted down. "Tea? Water?"

"No, thank you," Percy declined, and Will took in his demeanor cautiously. It had been a long time since he'd interacted with a royal who, well, actually acted like a royal around him.

He wasn't friends with Annabeth—that was Nico's acquaintance—nor Piper, who even Nico didn't really speak with, and he'd never spoken to Percy in his entire life. Percy was much more formal with him, and vice versa. It was strange to see someone so posh after a lifetime of serving people like him.

Percy sat like a true Victorian gentleman, his feet flat on the floor and his spine straight like a stiff, wooden ruler. Will blinked.

"Please excuse our abode. I hadn't known you were coming, or I surely would have cleaned this mess up, Sir," the healer profusely apologized.

Percy shook his head. "No, and I am most apologetic if I have imposed." Then he froze. "Our?" he repeated, confused.

Will froze, mentally cursing himself. It was Nico's and his cabin. "Some other young men share with me," he covered up. Percy relaxed in understanding.

"I see."

It dwindled into an awkward silence, but Will dared not interrupt it.

"I came to see how you were faring," Percy explained after a moment. "I understand you are a close friend of Nico's, and I have no doubt that this must be extremely difficult for you." So, Nico hadn't said anything, Will realized. He was relieved he hadn't messed that up.

"Yes," Will affirmed. "General Reyna, too, I'm sure."

"Yes," Percy concurred.

Will licked his dry lips, the silence falling over them again. He stared at his feet.

"Look," Percy interrupted. "Can I just—can we just be truthful?" he earnestly requested.

"Of course," Will granted, unsure of where this was heading.

"I want to know what's going on with Nico's medical state. I want to know how you are feeling, if you need any help, if I can make myself useful by helping you because I owe it to Nico to look out for you when he cannot. I want to know when he's going to wake up because he's… he's like you, he's young, he doesn't deserve this, and I've known this kid for so long that I cannot bear to be left in the dark like this. I understand it's confidential information to all the nurses, but I cannot stand it, as I'm sure you understand," Percy revealed, tapping his finger against his knee.

Will's mouth parted in surprise at his raw honesty. The blond hunched over in his seat, sagging against the fabric, utterly and completely drained. "Honestly, I would love to tell you, but the nurses refuse to impart knowledge upon me either. I can only make my own educated guesses."

Percy deflated with visible disappointment. "I see."

"But from what I saw, it looks like that son of a bitch, excuse my language, he has a severe concussion, which sent him into this dreaded coma." Will was very aware of his trembling voice, but if Percy noticed—which he really couldn't have _not_ —he was too polite to say anything. Will was grateful. "To make it simple, the brain has nerve axons that send electrical signals from the cell body to other neurons. In a concussion, the axons swell up like little beads. When the brain swells from the trauma, the fluid pushes up against the skull, and the swelling eventually caused, in this case, the brain to push down on the brain stem, damaging the reticular activating system—a part of the brain that is responsible for arousal and awareness."

Percy blinked.

"His physical injuries should heal nicely—we gave him a special dried plant for that, but it's the brain trauma that has me worried. If he doesn't wake in two to three weeks…" Will trailed off, unable to bear even _entertaining_ the possibility that Nico would never wake up, thus entering a vegetative state. What would Will do then? Probably die from heartbreak.

It sounded dramatic, but Will could hardly remember a free life like this before Nico, and besides, the funny Shakespeare Nico had always read to him at night had plenty of men dying from broken hearts and women fainting from shock. It was most entertaining. Now, it was tainted with a sad, lingering cloud.

"So, you're saying that he has two to three weeks to wake up?" Percy clarified.

Will slouched further, unable to help himself. He yawned against his own will. His own body couldn't support him anymore from sleep deprivation and excessive worrying. "I'm saying he has _at most_ two to three weeks."

Percy fell silent, his face gaunt at this angle in the sunlight streaming through the nearby window. "Why haven't you visited him?" he voiced finally, and it seemed like Percy was letting something out that he'd intended to ask for a while.

Will couldn't even find the strength to be insulted by what very much seemed like was Percy's lack of faith in him. But then again, Percy didn't truly understand the depth of his and Nico's relationship.

"Simple. Healer Knowles banned me."

Perseus could not disguise his surprise. "She _what?_ Why?" His shoulders tensed.

"I can't be in that room, according to her, without freaking out, and after my less than graceful meltdown when Nico was first wheeled into the infirmary, she's afraid that I'll stress him out, making it harder for him to leave the coma." Will shrugged, dejected.

Percy's face twisted into a scowl. "That's bullshit."

Will sat up straighter then, startled at the vulgar language.

"Nico will wake up faster when he's around those who care about him. Reyna dutifully visits him, which I'm sure helps. I do too, though I doubt that has much of an effect. But you, you could help him a lot. I'll talk to her."

"Don't bother," Will tried to reason with him. "Kayla's a tough cookie, and she's probably right anyways. I just want what's best for him, and if that means I can't see them… then so be it," Will accepted. Nico's health always came first.

"I can make her change her mind," Percy assured him, standing up. He seemed so much more alive than he had when he'd first showed up on his doorstep. Will was filled with an unreasonable jealousy. He was sure, like him, Percy felt better in these situations when he felt useful. Unfortunately for Will, he'd pretty much been restricted from helping for anything by Kayla, and he was ordered to simply 'relax.' Were they all insane? How could he possibly relax with Nico dying a little more every second that passed?

"If you really think so," Will permitted, shrugging his small shoulders. "Thank you."

"Trust me, this is for me just as much as it is for you," Percy reminded him, elegantly standing to his feet and stepping out of Will's humble abode. "I know it is difficult, but perhaps you should consider getting some sleep. I have found that watching the broadcasting systems for a long period of time often wears me out enough to get a few hours of sleep. Maybe that will work for you too," he suggested.

Will felt warmth seep into his skin at Percy's attempt to help. "Thank you," Will sincerely accepted, blinking back lame tears. There was nothing to even cry over, but Percy's compassion and simply talking to someone who understood, it really did help.

Percy just nodded, probably not accustomed to being thanked—he had just always done as he'd been told his entire life, no questions asked, like a true royal—and looking both ways, left Will behind in his own home.

* * *

**Annabeth**

She jerked awake, squinting into the blinding lights. What had woken her… oh.

Annabeth stared at the unlocked door across from her. In the doorway was an unnamed guard, their face concealed by Octavian's armory.

"Yes?" she asked, expectantly.

He just stared, his face impassive.

"Oh," she realized, unable to fight the dread coiling in the depths of her stomach. Her cold fingers found their way to her neck, as if her body wanted to subconsciously protect her. She hadn't realized it'd already been a week. Time passed differently here when she had no way to keep track. _You're making the right decision,_ she imagined Malcolm saying in her head.

The guard jostled her, keeping her hands and feet bound with the biting metal. "Don't even think about running," he growled, his voice gruff.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "If I'd wanted to, I already would've," she snapped. Death often made been more irritable. Holding a sword to her back, the main guard led her outside where two more guards were waiting. Together, the three of them escorted her to her public execution.

…

"How of you to finally join us," Octavian crooned.

Her head swiveled, a few stray blonde curls framing her face and irritatingly falling into her face. Carefully, she inspected the rows of men around her, her chin tilted up angrily, her large, intelligent, grey eyes fierce, clouding up with rage.

The men were all dressed as they usually were, adorned head to toe in silky, expensive clothes, beards neatly trimmed for the older men, and cleanly shaven faces for the younger boys. They were decked in infuriating amounts of jewels and precious metals, some faces smug, others indifferent, many simply surprised. The heroine was sprawled on the floor, brought to her knees, wrists locked together with a shiny silver pair of cuffs, digging into her flesh that was bleeding from her obvious resistance. Four guards surrounded her, trapping her into the little dirty space on the ground, kneeling to the haughty man in the golden throne, seated in front of her- no, seated _above_ her. She spat, her saliva littering the spotless floor in front of the clear ruler's feet.

Annabeth did not close her eyes, seemingly unafraid by the whole ordeal. Instead, her fury-filled glare locked on him with such disdain, it wasn't hard to believe that she could've easily been the one seated above him. Most would not notice, but his sneer was forced and for a moment, just a moment, his fear of her peeked through his expertly wielded facade. But two could play at the game. Did they think she wasn't dreading the moment the sharp, silver sword came down on her neck, successfully ending her life? Of course not; she was only human, after all. But she was filled with the determination to stare him down, frightening him up until the moment she was gone, and hopefully her face would haunt him long after she was gone. He clearly wanted to look away, that much was obvious, but she did not flinch, eyes trained on his face as her own expression hardened.

The scrape of the blade made her ache inside, practically feeling the pain before it all came crashing down on her. She could almost hear what they were all thinking, mistaking her for yet another ditsy little girl, stupid and careless. Had she possessed enough fight left in her, had she been elsewhere and not on death row, she would have curled her lips back, handing their asses to them, giving them whiplash with the sheer power of her words and intelligence. A dumb blonde? She was anything but. If only they knew. She suspected they very well knew, choosing not to acknowledge her power and place, only turning their heads away instead. Cowards: they were spineless beasts and nothing could ever make her believe otherwise.

The man on the throne wiggled two of his fingers, motioning for the executioners to come forward. She only raised her head to the sky, defiant as ever. The tigress inside her refused to bow, even at the last moment of her life. She nearly bit the guard near her when he tried to make way for the executioner. The man—no—the _boy_ on the throne couldn't help but grin terrifyingly.

"Wait," Octavian finally spoke. "Let me have one moment."

She practically scoffed. _For what? To mournfully say goodbye?_

He came close to her, too close in her opinion, his breath hot on her face. Annabeth considered spitting on the trash in front of her.

"You still have a chance to reconsider," he offered coldly, and for a second, her gut betrayed her, almost wanting to nod. She had spent her whole life like this, saving herself each and every moment, but her brain snapped her out of it. She did not reply, refusing him the satisfaction of getting _anything_ out of her. Not a shake of the head, not an affirming nod. Nothing.

Octavian leaned to her face, lips brushing against her ear, and she resisted the urge to flinch back in revulsion.

"You stupid, _stupid_ little girl. And to think, I'd asked you to be my Queen," he hissed, chilling her to the bone. He was unnaturally pale, smirking down at her with sickening pleasure to see her so chained up by his own will. "Kill her."

She glared at him hard, bracing herself for impact. She couldn't help herself, flinching in anticipation for the blade came down on her neck. It made her feel weak.

All of a sudden, a familiar voice echoed through the royal hall, not quite a yell, but a big enough voice that caused everyone to turn their attention away from her, drawn to his presence. He had once told her that she wasn't the center of the universe, no matter how much she tried, but she couldn't help but think that _he_ was. People were drawn to his natural charisma, bold personality, and wit. How could the world not love him? How could they not feel his pull, these magnetic chains that bound them to him? Now his voice was dripping with utter disgust, audibly shaking with emotion, clearly reflecting that he was incensed beyond the limit.

"Don't you dare touch her," Percy warned, acrimony laced in every word. The clamor within the room fell dead silent.

All at once, she couldn't disguise the surprise that passed over her face. His demeanor was so calm yet dangerous, that she almost wanted to melt from relief, never more grateful for his presence. She almost wanted to cry, but when he nodded at her subtly, all the fight that had been quickly been waning surged through her, giving her the rush of a century. They were in this together and they would both be in danger if she did not pull herself together. She met his eyes instead of breaking into a heaping mess, and when his usually hard expression softened at the sight of her, his message was clear:

_Give them hell._

Together, they unleashed.

…

"Shit! Shit, shit…" Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut.

"Breathe, Chase," Percy consoled her as he haphazardly cut through her chains. He was trying to avoid nicking her, but there was really nothing he could do to avoid it entirely. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he apologized to her the entire time, and finally he gave up, prying the metal apart with his hands.

" _Fuck,_ Percy it hurts." She stared down at the blood running down her ankles.

His face hardened. "I know," he remorsefully acknowledged. "We have Kayla on board, and if we can just get you there, she'll fix you up, okay?" He tilted her chin up with his forefingers, and she felt like a little kid. For once, it was comforting to simply trust that he knew what he was doing.

"Okay," she agreed. She was mildly aware of Piper beheading someone on her right. It was fascinating, in a horrific sort of way.

"We're going to have to run out of here, okay? And I know that you're in pain, and you're so sick, so I'm going to do my best to help you while Piper and the others hold battle for you, but I've got to do something before we leave, so you're going to have to make it back by yourself for part of it. I can only take you to the gates, and then you've got to run to the plane. Kayla will be there waiting for you."

She wanted to curl up into him and give in, but she could do it. "Okay. What do you have to do?" she inquired, curious.

He scowled darkly, and Annabeth remembered all at once why he was so intimidating to others. His natural brooding expression gave _her_ the shivers.

"I'm setting this prison aflame," he declared, not a hint of humor in his voice.

* * *

**Percy**

He threw another match against a wooden table. It roared to life, and Percy was very aware of Octavian yelling at someone to seize him behind him. It didn't matter. He was faster than them all, and he was determined to make it out.

Lightning the full stack on fire, Percy threw the explosives behind him, and then he took his final leap in faith, literally.

He jumped out of a window, and it was only midway that Percy began to wonder if it had been such a good idea after all.

He landed messily onto a smaller rooftop and continued to jump level by level on the stacks of tiling until he'd reached the bottom.

Percy crashed into the ground that was going up in flames and scrambling past the woods and rubble, he rolled out of the way as a tower cracked in half, toppling over and missing him by mere inches. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest.

…

In the chaos of it all, he hadn't gotten a good look at her. She was pale now and skinnier than he remembered. The delicate skin around her wrist had been torn over and over and over again, and he could see that it still burned red with blood. Percy's stomach lurched forward despite himself, and for a moment he felt he would be sick. Then he saw her face.

It had been so long, but he hadn't forgotten at all. There were still faint lines etched around her mouth from frowning and similar reflections around her eyes from smiling. Her hair was sticking up every which way, like always, except perhaps messier and thinner now, but deep down if he looked closely, he could see traces of the Annabeth he knew and loved.

She was staring up at him with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted as if awestruck. He spoke before thinking.

"You didn't seriously think I wouldn't come back for you, did you?"

She froze in her stunned silence.

"Three weeks, four days, six hours, and about twelve minutes," he rattled off, his breathing shallow with fear.

"Over half a month," she realized, turning a ghostly white when the full understanding hit her. That was an awful long time. She leaned on his body for support, and he was frightened by how much less she weighed than the last time he'd seen her.

"You let me go," he whispered. "You touched my hand, apologized, and made me leave you." His voice was thick with unwanted emotions. He really could not afford to break down now, not when she needed him. He would not let her down again.

She shrugged tiredly. In all honesty, he was surprised she was still standing. "It was for the best." Her voice was raspier than he remembered, and he blamed it on dehydration.

"And you… you had the audacity to apologize for meaningless arguments when you were on the verge of _death_ , Annabeth." No, he wasn't sad—he was fucking furious. After Piper dragged him onto that ship two weeks ago, he'd been beating himself up over it every waking moment, and even while asleep she haunted his dreams, but he'd never taken a second to pause and realize that _she_ had pushed him away. "I could've saved you, but you didn't let me." His dark eyebrows furrowed together.

She stared at the ground. "I didn't need saving."

"Don't give me that. I'm standing here for a reason, so I really beg to differ."

"Not that kind, anyways," she quickly corrected. Her speech was halted, like she wasn't used to using her voice. Octavian must've shut her up. Percy flinched at the realization. "You're already saving me in more ways than you know."

"It's not enough," he pleaded. It would never be enough, not until she was far away from this hell, not until she was off in Asia or Europe or the Middle East or anywhere else but here, everywhere beautiful she'd ever wanted to go and happy.

"You're my rock," she quietly revealed, wincing as she smiled softly.

"Annabeth?"

The tears were pooling again. His heart constricted. "I can fight," she promised him. "But we both know I'm not so good at this." She gestured between the two of them. "With anyone," she added as an afterthought.

He went quiet. Something about this moment felt important, and he had a feeling that when he was on his deathbed or in his final moments, he would remember this moment for the rest of his life.

"We build walls around our hearts and stash our souls in little boxes and wonder why nobody ever saves us," Annabeth admitted, and he felt that the hurricanes in her eyes were sucking him in. As the words finally sunk in, he was quietly horrified with the depth and pain behind her words. She closed her eyes as if she knew the weight of her words. "Thank you for coming for me."

She'd never thanked anyone for rescuing her; it just wasn't her style. She was self-sufficient, but she'd never realized that relying on others from time to time wasn't a weakness, but an indication of pure human nature.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he answered truthfully.

"What about Nico?" Her voice cracked on his name, and Percy frowned. How did she already know about his coma?

"Who told you about that?"

"So, it's true." Her face fell. "How?"

He looked at her strangely. "Someone lured him into the woods. We're not sure who yet."

"It was Octavian," she muttered. "He told me himself."

Percy's eyes widened. "Fuck. What would he even want with Nico? The Pevanshires are so unproblematic."

"And now I've killed both of them."

"Killed both… wait. I think we're talking about very different things." He frowned.

That jarred her. Her head snapped up to look at him. "Nico?" she echoed, hope flooding her expression. "Octavian said he killed him."

No wonder she looked like she was about to fall apart. "Annabeth," he began gently, not wanting to scar her with the shocking truth. "He's in a coma, but he's not dead."

Annabeth swayed slightly, and he steadied her with his hands immediately, not wanting her to faint from exhaustion or shock. "He's alive," she breathed, and tears leaked down her face. Relief, probably. "Oh my god, he's alive." She was definitely crying now.

"Annabeth?" His voice wavered with uncertainty. "Do you need to sit down?"

She shook her head, stubborn as ever. Her fingers curled into an iron grip around the fabric of his shirt. "He's alive," she repeated, a slow smile painting across her face. "I want to see him. Before all else. He's my responsibility, and I want to see him."

Percy nodded, overwhelmed by her emotions. "Of course. We'll go see him," he soothed her. "Let's get you cleaned up first, though. Nico would hardly want to see you in this state when there's some easy solutions." There would never be solutions for the long-lasting trauma, he knew, but he didn't say that part out loud. "Ready to go home?"

Annabeth turned around, watching carefully as the building crumbled before them, the flames eating the structure and burning it to the ground. Octavian could not possibly be dead yet. He had the most annoying tendency to survive all things thrown at him. Revenge would come later, but for now, Percy was satisfied to watch the Princess take in the scene before her. He could watch her forever.

"Annabeth?" he repeated, hiding a small smile. Of course she had already tuned him out, lost in her own world as always. He would've thought two weeks' worth of white isolation would've been more than enough, but no.

"This is where we come alive," she whispered so quietly, he had to strain to hear her. Puzzled by her cryptic words, he tried to redirect her attention.

"Chase? Home?" He gestured to the jet behind them.

A pillar collapsed onto itself, and dust and sparks flew up in harmony, sizzling horribly.

"I already am," she replied with a certainty, turning to look back at him.

"That's cheesy, especially for you."

She smiled then, a real smile that he felt he hadn't seen in months. Her eyes smiled with her mouth, and he knew she was true. Whenever they had spoken last, it was out of anger or desperation. It was a refreshing change.

"Home is where the heart is," she cautiously declared, eyeing him warily for his reaction.

"Maybe there's hope for you after all." He beamed down at her.

She offered a wry grin. "Let's go, Seaweed Brain. I've got a plan to hatch."

"Of course you do."

"Don't look so depressed. I'll shower first, obviously. Then we can go see Nico, that wonderful, stupid kid. I need to make sure the doctors are doing what they're supposed to. We're waking him up if it's the last thing I ever do." Only Annabeth would know more than the goddamn doctors. Percy shook his head to himself. He had forgotten what it was like to stand in her presence and be amazed with every piece of her, but he had not forgotten how to love her.

"And then when all is said and done, maybe I've got a moment to spare." Her eyes sparkled.

"Last time you said that, you ended up lecturing me about Greek mythology for forty-five minutes. I don't trust a word you say, Wise Girl." He gave her the stink eye.

She laughed, and they made their way to the jet, slowly but surely. Only then did he realize she'd been quoting an old Jirot poem. The memory of it burned onto a black banner outside Persephone's garden was engraved in his mind.

_Out of the shadows and into the light, braving the unknown; this is where we come alive._


	24. The Void Screams Back

**Annabeth**

"His vitals look good," Annabeth mournfully muttered, taking a seat at Nico's bedside with Percy. "But they don't know when he'll wake up." She could not bother to even play with the word 'if.' It was always 'when' to her. "It's all down to him now."

"No news is good news," Percy whispered.

She had never heard truer words. When people went away to war, not hearing from them was better than getting a heavy piece of parchment in her hands with a royal seal from a King. She had seen stacks of those letters on her father's desk so long ago. Absentmindedly, she wondered how many Percy had signed in his lifetime. It was a dark thought she tried not to dwell on for too long.

"He looks sick, Percy," she worried. She glanced out the window. The sun was beginning to set now, seeing as the jet had landed in the late afternoon. She still hadn't made all her rounds yet, but at least she'd been able to clean up and see Nico. Perhaps she would push her other delegations off until tomorrow.

"He is." Percy seemed to answer in short phrases when in this room. It was strange, like Nico's very presence took a toll on him. It was visible, too, in the way he slumped over the bed like it would hold up his burdens for him.

She fiddled with a letter in her jacket pocket. Desperate to change the topic from Percy's haunting silence, she pulled it out, and Percy's gaze shot to the crinkling paper.

"Hey, where do you guys mail things?" Things had changed in the three weeks she'd been gone. The Amazons had upped their security, especially after what had happened to Nico.

"Oh, yeah. It all has to be checked by the south border now before being shipped off. They have to inspect everything and make sure there's no moles to keep security standing. I'm going south later."

"You are?" Annabeth couldn't disguise her surprise. "What's down there for you?" She only ever went down there for strategy meetings.

"Will's cabin. I can drop it off for you if you'd like," Percy offered.

"Thanks." She watched as Percy took the paper from her, discreetly scanning the envelope. She watched as he read her brother's name on it. It'd been a while since she'd talked to her brother, and she had no doubt someone had informed him of her latest situation. It was only responsible to also inform Malcolm of her recent freedom.

Something about this freedom felt different, though. Everyone's eyes were always on her—well, more than usual. It was as if they were waiting for her to fall apart, driven to madness from the hospital. Strangely, she felt fine, if not a little weak and sick. And she got winded easily. Percy nearly had a heart attack when she started gasping for breath after running up a hill, rushing her to the infirmary earlier that morning.

In her humble opinion, Percy was much worse off than her. His hands seemed to tremble constantly, as if he had downed five cups a few hours ago, and something told her he was on the verge of a great downfall. She pondered when he'd last gotten a good night's rest.

"Most things haven't moved, though. My cabin's still off to the east," Percy mentioned, and she looked up only to see he wasn't looking at her.

It was true that this was the first they'd spoken since their big argument. Now, he was offering a clear invitation to come back to his cabin, to stay the night like she always had before.

Something inside of her churned. Tonight, she would talk to him, and she would make it all better. She'd feel terrible sleeping next to him without addressing the shitshow that had gone down beforehand.

"I remember," was all she said, staring at the ground. She took one last look at Nico. "Tell me if anything changes, okay?" Annabeth rose to her feet, and Percy nodded, entranced by the boy in the bed. "I'll see you tonight."

Now he looked at her, earnestly. "Okay," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Be safe."

She froze at his words. That was new and given his current state, slightly concerning.

She knitted her eyebrows together, befuddled. "Of course," Annabeth assured him.

She didn't miss the way he let out a breath of relief at her promise before she left.

…

Her fingers quivered at the door, rapping gently against the hard wood.

A dark-haired girl Annabeth didn't recognize opened it. She had something in her mouth that she was discreetly chewing, and she looked bored at the ex-Princess' arrival.

"Can I help you?"

Annabeth awkwardly shifted her weight onto her other foot. "I'm here to speak to Thalia."

She squinted at her before shrugging to herself. "Lieutenant! There's someone here to see you!"

Annabeth flinched at the unexpected yelling. _Someone?_ She supposed it was, admittedly, a bit conceited to expect everyone would know her. There was some movement behind the cabin door as the stranger left her abandoned at the front stairs.

Lieutenant Grace appeared in front of her, a scowl flitting across across her face when she realized who it was. "You're back," said Thalia, and Annabeth couldn't quite decipher her tone. Either way, she knew this wasn't going to go like how she'd hoped.

"I am," Annabeth agreed. And then, "can we talk?"

"I don't know," Thalia coldly mutters. "Are you still a bitch?"

"That depends. Are you?" Annabeth was willing to apologize, but she wouldn't take this sitting down.

Thalia pursed her lips. "Let's go somewhere else. _My_ choice."

Annabeth held her hands up in surrender. "Fine by me." She gestured for the shorter girl to lead the way.

…

Thalia took her to the stream, it turned out. It wasn't excessively private or anything, but Thalia seemed at home next to the fish fighting their way past the slippery rocks.

Annabeth, on the other hand, sat a good couple feet away from the water, her anxiety returning. Percy may have given her a crash course in swimming, but that didn't mean she was exactly _eager_ to get her skin wet.

Thalia stared at her as if she was taunting the blonde to go ahead and speak her mind. Annabeth took a deep breath. Apologies were always hard for her. Unfortunately, she was going to have to get over that discomfort quickly—she still had two more people to unroll her emotions for.

"I'm sorry," Annabeth began, immediately cringing at how stupid it sounded. "I'm sorry I listened to Tiresias, a stranger in all of our eyes, over you, and Percy, and everyone else who told me this was a bad idea. I'm sorry Jason's gone, and I'm sorry there's no coming back from this. I would trade places with him without another thought if I could." And she would. Perhaps that's why, in some twisted way, she felt she deserved what Octavian had done to her and her lack of sanity. It had been a long time coming.

Thalia stared at the water. "Me too. It wasn't your fault," she admitted, and Annabeth's stomach lurched. Percy had said the same thing, but she was having a hard time believing it. Some part of her knew she would always blame herself for his death, just like she'd drown in self loathing every time she remembered Bianca or even… or even the Luke before Medusa ripped into his mind.

"You thought you were doing what was best, and it was poor judgement, but it was genuine. And you did good, too." Her eyes were hard, and Annabeth wondered if the grass below her would wilt. "You saved everyone in that hospital, you know. Everyone but yourself." Now Thalia stared at her through her dark eyeliner. "I'll never say Jason's sacrifice was worth it. To me, it'll never be, but I suspect you'll always feel the same. But if we treat people like numbers…" Thalia's face scrunched up in pain, and Annabeth winced.

She knew all too well what it felt like. It was painful to pretend people with their own lives, aspirations, dreams, pains, stories were just numbers, placeholders, but sometimes that was all you could do.

"If they're numbers, then you won the world," Thalia croaked out. Her black fingernails picked at a nearby twig, scraping until the bark slowly began to wear down. "You couldn't save my little brother, but he made his own choices too. He decided to come, volunteering so he could be by your side the whole way through. You can't possibly be responsible for everyone else's actions."

Annabeth shuddered. "But I have to, Thalia." Her eyes stung with shame. It was this innate need inside of her to make sure everything was in her control.

"No. I am sitting in front of you, Annabeth, and I am telling you it is not your fault. It's not your fault people are filled with hatred. It's not your fault _anyone_ died. You did not stand there with a rifle in your hands and shoot through them through the heart. And even if you did to some, they would have done the same to you. Sometimes, it really does come down to your life versus theirs, and if you've survived so much now, I ought to be proud of you as a comrade instead. You're doing your best, and it's a damn shame not to acknowledge it."

"I could've done more," Annabeth dared protest.

" _No_ ," Thalia choked out. She wrapped her pale fingers around Annabeth's slumped shoulders. "I am _promising_ you. Take the victory, idiot." Thalia shook her head. "You're a delusional, stupid piece of shit. But you're a fighter, and I can't let you walk away and think you've lost everything. We're in the middle of war, Annie, and sometimes things don't go the way we planned, some plans go awry, people die. I'm proud of you for escaping that cursed bastard's hospital, and for burning it down with the sea Prince. You're going to lead us into the light, I swear it. They'll paint tall portraits of you, dripping in gold, and they'll carve your face into stone."

"Thalia—" Annabeth's eyes went wide. Thalia had an iron grip, and she wouldn't budge.

"Mark my words, Princess. History will remember you."

"Thalia, stop—" Annabeth pleaded. This was too much to wrap her head around, not now. The pressure was getting to her, and she could feel herself splitting at the seams. "It's too much!"

"They'll remember you," Thalia breathed. "Make sure it's a story you're proud of."

They looked at each other in a tense silence. "What did he mean?" Annabeth finally asked. _When she doubts, tell her the answer is yes._

Thalia frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Tiresias. He said the answer was 'yes.' Yes to what?"

Thalia's expression shuts down, going back to the usual cold. "It's not important."

"It had to be," Annabeth argued. "On that plane, you stopped fighting Percy when I gave you the answer."

"It doesn't involve you, Chase. That seer didn't tell you for a reason."

"Thalia," Annabeth insisted, staring her down.

"I don't know how he knew I'd been thinking it long before Jason left us," her voice trembled, and Annabeth steadied her with the miniscule strength she herself had left.

Annabeth shuddered despite herself. Though she had believed Tiresias before everyone else, this was maybe the only time in her whole life she regretted being right. How could he see the future? It didn't make logical sense, and it left Annabeth shivering in the dark.

"I wanted to know." Thalia screwed her eyes shut in agony. "I wanted to know if Beryl was alive. Now I don't know what to do."

"Beryl?" Annabeth pressed, befuddled.

"A shell of a woman. I had thought she drank herself to death, but I guess that was too much to ask for," Thalia spat. "Jason's—and my own—mother."

* * *

**Piper**

"Am I interrupting?"

Annabeth and Thalia jolted, startled. They wore serious expressions like they'd been discussing their own funerals.

Annabeth glanced to Thalia. "No, I don't think so. I was just leaving." She stood to her feet, and Thalia's gaze dropped to the grass underneath her. "Percy's probably waiting up for me anyways," she mumbled.

Piper's heart squeezed painfully; Jason used to wait for her like that. He had promised he'd wait forever for her to make up her mind over them.

"Wait." Piper grabbed her by the arm probably too tight, though, because Annabeth's eyes went wide in surprise. "Percy's been really tired lately," she warned, biting her bottom lip nervously.

Annabeth's face scrunched up in confusion. "We all have been," she slowly expressed. "Why would he be excluded from that?"

"No, I mean… _really_ tired. Just be good, okay?" She couldn't help but feel that she was sending her friend off to battle an atomic bomb. He was on the edge of detonating, and this was dangerous territory to tread.

Annabeth looked at her strange. "Okay," she hesitantly agreed and shrugged her hand off. "I'll see you tomorrow," she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the dark of the night.

"What's wrong, panflute?" Thalia jarred her back into the present. She glanced down to see the dark-clothed girl dragging a black boot through the water. Piper cringed; it would be all soggy and gross now. Thalia was another kind of reckless that she couldn't even begin to fathom.

"I just think it's been awhile since we've spoken," Piper delicately declared, eyeing Thalia's face to gauge her reaction. Lieutenant Grace's jaw tensed, her teeth clenching.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Piper confirmed, sitting across from her and neatly folding her legs in front of her. She could still remember how she'd spent Jason's birthday, curled up in her cabin reading letters he'd left her what felt like a million years ago. "We haven't spoken since the incident."

Thalia winced. "I know," she admitted.

"It's been lonely," Piper whispered, and Thalia didn't react, but she knew deep down that Thalia felt the same.

Their voices echoed across the stream anyways, the wind carrying their secrets along.

* * *

**Percy**

The screen flickered in front of him. His eyes felt heavy, but he couldn't bring himself to shut it off.

There, in all his glory, was none other than his brother, coldly stepping out off a jet, bathed in royal riches around his pale neck. Was it just him or did Luke look skinnier than he had two months ago?

It was July 6th, which Percy could hardly believe. Nearly a month ago Annabeth was stolen from him. A month and a half ago, Epresh and Jirot put down their firearms and fought alongside the Amazonians and Canadians. Two months ago, they were thrown out of their royal homes, and he discovered his mother was alive just as his father died, and then his brother rose to power.

It was startling to realize just how much had changed in eight weeks, give or take some, and how his entire life had shifted to something darker.

Annabeth's birthday was six days away. He mildly wondered if she even felt like celebrating after all that'd happened. It had only been five days since Jason should have turned seventeen. That in itself was a punch to the stomach.

Percy snapped out of his inner, most intimate thoughts when the TV blared out of turn. He stood up hastily, staring at the screen in quiet horror.

Queen Aphrodite was dead.

He'd never been particularly close with the nasty Queen, but he could remember a few, selective good memories with her and his father, just the three of them. Piper had been too young to remember. Piper…Percy's eyes fluttered shut. He wasn't sure how she'd react when she found out. Legally speaking, she was an orphan now.

"This is a dark time for all of us."

Percy's eyes flew open at the familiar voice. Luke was delivering an address.

"We have villains among us, but we can choose what future we build for our children." His blue eyes were serious. For a moment, Percy thought he could see the boy he once knew, the one who really, truly cared about people, but then it was gone just as fast as it'd come. But no—he couldn't afford to be familiar with the current King of Thasite. When push came to shove, someone would have to die.

A chill ran through Percy.

"And the Amazons, your Highness?" a reporter shouted in the audience. Cameras spun, lights flashing and blinding.

"The Amazons?" Luke's face was impassive. "I have not forgotten them. We will crush them, I _promise._ For all they have taken from us, they will pay. I have not forgotten the traitors either." Percy's blood ran cold; that would be him and Annabeth. "When I get my hands on them, they will be at the end of their ropes, and they will get the justice they deserve."

The crowd rioting, roaring and cheering.

Percy reached up and touched his neck, subconsciously. Luke had never been stronger than him growing up, but like Annabeth, he relied on his strongest talent: the ability to empower the right crowd and tear down the other, to rile up a crowd or calm them down, to manipulate a sea of faces with nothing more than words.

"What about the escaped Pevanshire, Sir? And the Raya?"

Luke didn't blink. "They too are traitors. They will receive the same end as the others."

Not Nico. Percy sucked in a shaky breath. He could fall to his brother's feet, but not his longtime friend, not Nico. He would rather die first.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"I heard someone destroyed your father's grave," Annabeth announced when she stepped into the cabin later that night. Her talk with Thalia had run longer than she'd expected and when a faint knock interrupted the nasty subjects—it had been Piper seeking out Thalia—she had dismissed herself, greeting Piper with a half-smile before parting out the door. It had been a long, emotional evening, but there was still more to come. She had a man to apologize to, the one she'd left in the dark while she played as Octavian's stupid, little puppet.

What she found instead was strange. Percy was curled up in a corner, sulking as he stared out the window. He turned to look at her now, and the unsettled feeling returned. Piper had said he was tired, had warned her, but she hadn't expected the results to be this severe. Perhaps her apology would have to wait.

"We should go back to Thasite when we can, so you can properly pay your respects," she suggested, albeit warily.

"No," Percy resisted.

Annabeth's mouth turned down in a frown. "No?" she echoed. "But—but he's your blood. You must have some semblance of connection with him, should you not?" Even her own father had never been someone she adored, clearly, but she could indeed recall a couple of somewhat tolerable moments with him.

"He's not my family," he aggressively spat. "My family should be dead."

Annabeth stepped back like he'd slapped her. "You love Sally!" she accused. "How can you say that?"

"It doesn't matter anyway," said Percy darkly, cutting her off. She found herself shrinking under his sharp gaze. "Everything that lives sooner or later dies. We all will someday."

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, thoroughly appalled by his lack of emotion. "That's a horrible thing to say! I never could've imagined you were so cold!"

"Cold?"

He stood up. There was something in his voice that made her uneasy.

Percy dropped a box, startling her. The contents spilled across the wooden ground, but before she could inspect them, Percy had rounded on her. "What right do you have to talk to me about being cold? You knew right from the start that I am cold to all but you; it's the way I am." His eyes were blazing, swirling like mini hurricanes.

"Percy—"

"Exactly what that old man wished and now he got it. That's what he wanted me to be!"

Annabeth knew then that he was talking about something entirely different now. She wished to back away further, but found the cool wall behind her restricting all movement. Percy pressed into her, warming up with his fury. Annabeth slyly brushed her fingers across his wrist and wasn't surprised to pull back from the heat. He was feverish from lack of self-care.

Either way, she fought him back. It was the way _she_ was. "That's awful, Percy. Even when he's gone, you're still fighting him? How can you say you'll never visit him?" She was grasping onto pieces of him she thought she recognized. It couldn't all be an illusion, not the caring young man she knew and loved.

First he had denied killing the old man, then he had fallen into depression, and now he had resorted to anger. It was to be expected, but that didn't mean Perseus wasn't terrifying, a formidable enemy, and a worse lover for he could snap her heart into two with a single word.

"He wanted me to be shrewd, to be cold and calculating. He wanted me to win every single time, no matter who I went up against."

She could see it all now. She could imagine a small Percy making a mistake on an exam, only to be berated for one or two wrong. She had grown up with no expectations of her, and so she'd set standards for herself. He had been pushed into it, and that was very, _very_ different. She could only imagine how that had played a hand in Luke's becoming. Annabeth shuddered.

"You're making a mistake," she whispered.

"I hate to think I ever followed that old man's wishes, but I chose to conform to his standards. Dead or not, why should I pity a man who has lost? No, I'm definitely not making a mistake."

She trembled in her shoes, both in disgust and dread. "Percy, I hate it when you say such cold things…!" Pressing both palms into his chest, she shoved him off, eyes blown wide.

"Even if you hate me," he shook his head to himself, seemingly resigned, "that's who I am."

This was perhaps the first time that Annabeth had ever been disappointed in Percy, and that in itself was a punch to the gut. Normally, she would've blamed such a reckless attitude on alcohol—she'd gotten wasted her fair share on crisp champagne in crowded ballrooms—but Percy was alarmingly sober for his state of mind.

She spoke without thinking. "I don't recognize you when you're like this! The resemblance is uncanny, and concerning, and I can't help but see—" Annabeth snapped her mouth shut at the realization of what she was about to say, covering it with her hands hastily.

Percy narrowed his eyes at her. "What, Annabeth? Can't say it? Go ahead."

She shook her head, frightened and quiet. The truth could only have a caustic effect.

"Say it," he repeated, his face tilting to one side. It was a challenge, and, for once, she would not meet it.

"I won't. You're tired and sleep-deprived, and so you're being cruel and saying ghastly things. Just go to bed, Percy," Annabeth implored him, but she knew it was in vain. She would talk to him in the morning, when he would hopefully be more reasonable and certainly less intimidating.

"Even now, even after all he put you through, you still see Luke," Percy breathed, and it felt worse than she imagined it would. "Tell me, do you see him every time you see me, or only now, when I've reached my limit? Is it terrifying? Do you fear me like you fear him? Or do you only fear me because you know deep down what he's like, you can read him like a book, but I'm much too unpredictable?"

"Stop it," pleaded, the ill feeling building in her gut. She felt she would hurl, but he went on anyways.

"And if things were different, would you still be standing here?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice, but it was drowned out by the question, a question she too, admittedly, had been asking herself often.

Had Luke been normal, had everything gone according to Athena's plan, if they weren't in the middle of a thousand wars, both internal and external, who would she have chosen: Luke or Perseus?

Involuntary tears pricked at her eyes. The agony of the last few weeks had made her emotional and weak.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered. "You can't possibly ask me that, Percy. You know just as well as I do how unfair it is."

"Is it?" His expression was placid, but she didn't let that fool her.

"It is!" Tears of anger rolled down her cheeks now. "Imagine if I asked you to choose! Would you have rather had Sally stay in your life and not have woken up as a child wondering why your mother committed suicide, wondering if it was all your fault, wondering why she left you behind, or would you rather have never had a brother? Medusa wouldn't have been there to plague you, sure, but Luke never would've been your best friend. You wouldn't have known he existed!"

Percy flinched, but she didn't care, her pent-up frustrations releasing.

"Now pray tell me, is that a fair question for me to ask you? Could you choose?" she accused. "You couldn't! I can't! You're a coward, Perseus Jackson Calbourne, only you will never be able to admit it! You'll hide behind niceties until you snap, and when you do, you take it out on the people around you, you pathetic excuse for a man!"

"You act so high and mighty, but you forget you had hid behind lies first. You tricked me! And I killed my father for it." He glared her down. "And I lost a brother! He never would've done any of that shit if it wasn't for you. Poseidon was delusional, but he was right in that!"

It was all coming up like word vomit now, and it was horrible, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. They were spiraling out of control, floundering like two fish out of water. It was more toxic than being chained up by Octavian, she found herself thinking. At least Octavian _knew_ he was crazy.

Annabeth's flared in fury. "He would've found a way!" she screamed, her voice hoarse. She was sure they were making a racket. Their isolated cabin was a blessing now. "Medusa twisted his brain, don't you see? She _made_ him into a monster. No one did such to you; your fucked-up-self is a product of you and you alone!"

"Why should I apologize for the monster I've become when nobody apologized for making me this way?" he bit back. "No one dug in my mind, but trauma is enough to drive someone mad. You should know! You've been crying since you came out Octavian's clutches, and no one can understand why, but _I_ know. I was in my father's army since I was fourteen." He grinned, but it was humorless, and it rubbed her the wrong way. That was a lie too, she knew. She'd gone through his archives out of curiosity; he had been _twelve._

"God, you're so stupid!" Annabeth roughly carded her fingers through her hair, pulling painfully at the roots. "The Percy I know would never say that!"

"Then maybe you don't know me at all!"

"Maybe I don't! I'd much rather _not_ know you if this is the version of you you've become! You're a slave for bitterness, and I can't stand it."

Percy's mouth pressed into a thin, grim line.

Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut before glaring up at him. "I know now; shit, I've known all along!"

She should've stopped, she really should've. It was a lie, and they both knew it. It was a last attempt to get back at him for the pain they caused each other. Choosing was impossible; both of them were just as much a part of her as she was of them, for better or worse. But anger drove people insane.

Percy stilled, small puffs of air escaping his lips. For a moment, she could see the little boy in him all over again, but she ripped through him anyways, a merciless bulldozer.

"If it was a frightened boy with a wretched mother or a child soldier with mommy _and_ daddy issues, then I would've picked him! I would've picked him because at least there's a part of him that wanted to fix the world, even if he was misled, even if Medusa led him askew! He didn't sit around and curse the world and hate his life and everyone around him, and when he hurt people, it was an accident, only ever an accident. But you feed off spite; you're a callous, miserable, lonely man!"

Annabeth's vision blurred, her head pounding. She covered her ears. It felt like a jackhammer was drilling holes through her head.

"And—and he certainly never, _ever_ , would purposefully hurt me like you do!"

She was trembling when she was finished, and burying her face into her hands, Annabeth crumpled onto the bed. This was too much for one day. Her face had gone white, all color draining from her skin with the toll the argument took on her. Arguments with Percy were rare, but exhausting and emotionally-sucking.

She knew she had gone too far. She had lied past her limit, and though she suspected Percy knew as well as her, it still felt like someone had ripped out her heart and stomped all over it. She would have never picked Luke so easily.

She still would not, but when put in a position like this, all she could think of was trying to hurt him like he hurt her. Only she never understood how such an admission, false or not, would hurt her too.

She didn't move an inch when Percy spun on his heels, muttering an excuse under his breath before promptly leaving the cabin.

…

Percy's strides were too long, even for her, but she wouldn't let him go this easily, not after she'd just gotten him back.

"Stop," she beseeched, running after him. She reached out for him.

Percy flinched away. "Don't," he warned. He gracefully dodged her touch like a little kid avoiding a mother ruffling his hair. He backed away from her, her hands raised in surrender.

Annabeth reluctantly pulled away, her hands hesitantly hovering near his face.

"It was a lie, damn it; you know this as well as I do," she fiercely reminded him.

"Who gives a fuck about that?" he muttered. Finally resigned, it seemed, Percy's head fell in his hands. He had run out of steam. He took a seat on a nearby boulder and roughed up his face before resting his chin on his fists, staring out to the water.

"You're worrying all the time about everyone and everything. I'm guessing you're not sleeping either by the bags under your eyes," Annabeth gently mentioned, a rare an act of kindness for her. "Don't overwork yourself." She discreetly slid next to him on a log. He was supposed to be the better half.

"Annabeth…" he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. "I never should have come here," he admitted.

Her heart sank. "Percy?" Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

"I'm not cut out for this," he mumbled under his breath. Annabeth felt like an intruder, imposing on an intimate moment. "I've got to get out of here. Luke's death would've been better. At least it would've been quick."

"Don't say that." She was taken aback by his bold words.

"Nico's going to die." Percy muttered. He was changing topics so fast she didn't know how to keep up.

"We have to trust he won't," she murmured.

"At least he won't be lonely anymore." His hair fell in his eyes; it had grown long, but Annabeth had never really gotten around to forcing him to trim it. Percy cursed under his breath. "I can't do this. He averted his gaze, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Annabeth sprung to her feet, running to catch up with him.

"Nowhere in particular." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Go back to the cabin." He sighed, his exhaustion deeply engraved in his face.

"Not without you," she stubbornly said, her bottom lip quivering despite herself.

"Annabeth." Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not today, okay? Please." He peered down at her. "Besides, you're shivering." He pointed to her.

Annabeth glanced down. It was true; being so close to water both made her nervous and chilly. "The faster you come with me, the quicker I stop shivering," she bargained.

Percy hesitated just as she suspected he would, afraid for her before himself, but then he surprised her. "Please just go." He turned her away like she was an errant toddler, lost on her way. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"No." Her fists balled up at her sides. "I'm not afraid of you, no matter what you do or say."

"Maybe so." He didn't sound convinced. "But you're angry, with good reason, as am I. Let me be," he reasoned.

"You're angry?"

She didn't remember him ever admitting it out loud. He was like his brother in that manner, quietly bottling up his emotions. Annabeth couldn't fathom it, not when she so loudly expressed all things running through her head at every moment of her life. She imagined it must've been like a jail cell, only in your own head. And he'd thrown away the key a long time ago.

Percy nodded sullenly. "It's been a while since I've been _this_ angry, like if you cut me I'd bleed fire."

"Then I'll cut you a thousand times with my words until the fire has extinguished."

"Look, you don't want to be here if I erupt, so get the hell away from me before I hurt you more than I already have, before I regret saying or doing more things than I already do."

"No." Annabeth chewed her bottom lip, balking in the silence she'd devised. "If you hate me, then show me. If you regret things, then tell me. If you're hurting, then let me heal you. If you want to hurt someone, then hurt me only." She blinked back tears. "But don't leave me alone again. I've been numb for so long, and I can't do it anymore," she prayed. This time when she cupped his face in her hands, he didn't pull away.

"I'm so angry at you," he grit out between his teeth, taking in a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm so angry at Octavian for taking you like that. I'm so pissed that Luke did what he did, that Medusa fucked him up, that Poseidon died, that Sally left, that she ran off to have another family. That Luke hangs over me like this sword because I don't know what he'll do, and I have no doubt that he's after you; I can see it in his fucking face when he talks on those stupid, _stupid_ broadcasts. That you. Won't. Leave." The last one lingered over them both, unspoken: _and I'm angry at myself more than anyone else._

Percy seized her wrists, drawing her closer. Annabeth sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of being so close to him after so long.

"And you'll always choose him," he choked out. Percy frowned as if he'd never really said it out loud. The full weight of his words finally seemed to reach him, and Annabeth could feel the small, flat, hard rock left in place of her heart shattering into a million pieces. "But I want you to choose me, but I wouldn't pick me either if I was you because I'm just like you said: a fucked-up son of a bitch."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but his eyes were blank. He squeezed her hand so hard that it hurt, but it was better than not feeling at all. Annabeth winced, but she relished his touch. It reminded her she was still alive, however uncertain this life was and however barbarous.

"Tell me you love me," Annabeth let out before she could stop herself, this wild, reckless abandon to be cherished overtaking her. "Tell me you're better than him, or my father, or everyone who's ever met me down, and I'll believe you."

Percy's mouth parted in surprise. "I don't know that I am."

"I don't care." Annabeth pulled his face close to hers. "So tell me lies then. Lie to me for the rest of my life if it'll keep you right here." Her words were heady, weighed down with the truth.

"Annabeth, I don't think you realize what you're saying."

"Don't hide on the couch outside the bedroom. Sleep beside me, suffocate me with your heat and your touch. Don't abandon me like they have, like I have to others." She wasn't sure exactly what she was asking for anymore, only that she was burning up with a fever. It looked like he could tell because he reached out to feel the heat on her forehead. "Please, Percy," she begged. Her lips were mere centimeters away from his, and she could taste the cool mint from his mouth.

"Annabeth, you'll regret this. You're just tired."

"No, _you're_ tired," she retorted.

"We both are," he cautiously agreed, eyeing her carefully. She imagined that she looked like dynamite to him, on the verge of blowing up into millions of pieces and taking him under with her. A grenade in his life that he couldn't bother to leave behind, even if it was suicide.

Annabeth had her mouth over his before he could stop her. It was odd to kiss him now after spending the past half an hour screaming their throats raw with the worst possible things they could say to wound each other. And wound, they certainly did.

"All you do is hurt me," she half-sobbed out, wiping tears away with the back of her right hand. She guessed he was one of the few, rare people who could truly hurt her. These injuries were soul-deep. They were reflections of each other, displaying what the hated most about themselves in each other with their harsh language. "Fix it, Percy. Make it better." It was like when children sobbed for their parents to kiss it all better, only her parents had never done so. Maybe Malcolm once or twice, but only if she was a baby enough to freely offer her pride so easily.

"I don't know how," he stammered, clearly conflicted by her pathetic tears. Annabeth pulled him down by his collar, answering his question with actions instead. She had forgotten what it was like to taste him. She had only been able to dream of this moment in Octavian's cage.

"You're still cold," Percy whispered against her lips. He gave in, scooping her up easily. They blindly stumbled back to the cabin, Annabeth making herself comfortable with her mouth on his neck and chest while he attempted to navigate.

Inside the cabin, Percy gently tossed her onto the bed, slamming the bedroom door closed behind him. He glanced back at it once, unable to gauge his own strength based off the way he caused the door to rattle at the hinges.

"Are you sure?" His face lit up with concern. _I don't care what he says; he's not as cold-blooded as he thinks he is. It is what is so good about him._

"As sure as I was the first time and the time after that." Annabeth's eyes slid closed in quiet bliss as Percy trailed kisses down her neck and to the sweet spot at the base of her clavicle.

"It's not enough. More," she requested, covering her face with her hands out of embarrassment. Percy easily complied, his hands slipping down to free her from her figurative armor. He sent waves of pleasure jolting through her with each fleeting brush of his burning skin against hers.

It became all too much, the senses overwhelming her. He was such a tease, barely skimming her skin, only this time she doubted he was driving her crazy on purpose. No, she was positive he was hesitant.

"Stop," she weakly demanded, but Percy drew back immediately, heeding her order. His cheeks flushed, and he looked down in shame.

He fidgeted across from her, scooting back to give her room. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, you idiot," Annabeth snapped. She glared up at him. "I'm not glass. I won't snap or shatter. Don't treat me as such." She ignored the way his mouth fell open in surprise. "Love me with everything you have," she dared whisper.

Percy looked her in the eyes before encircling the skinny part of her wrist with his forefinger and thumb. He gently squeezed, and Annabeth's eyes squeezed shut. She could feel Octavian's manacles when he did that, and she feared for a moment that she might throw up. Percy let go before she could cry out in pain. The orbs of his eyes were dark, nearly black in this light.

She wondered if this was the type of falling people spoke of.

Was falling in love akin to falling from heaven in that you could only become your true self once the darkest parts of you were cracked open and vulnerable for all to see? Even Satan used to be an angel.

Perhaps they were both sadists in the way they hurt each other, in the method to their madness when they hurt themselves. And perhaps they were equal parts masochists too, the yin to each other's yang. There was a stillness then, the quiet in the eye of a hurricane.

Percy captured her mouth in his, pressing her into the wooden headboard behind her. Annabeth gasped for breath, her heart pounding out of her chest.

It was an out-of-body experience. Annabeth felt like an old Queen, taking a long drag from a classic, rolled cigar, draped across a loveseat in a thick fur coat as she watched herself engage with Percy from a distance.

This was not her destruction; this was a new side: a foundation built on her rock bottom. At least it was stable. Her tower had burned down, but now she could see the moon through the foggy clouds.

"Percy—" she breathed, her eyes closed. He was whispering her name like a madman. He forced her to look up at him, and she was grateful. She wanted to see him, to never forget him. She peered at him through a curtain of eyelashes, her lids heavy with sated satisfaction. She wanted to soak him in with all of her senses until she fell apart.

He could tear her apart as many times as he wanted if he'd build her again like this, painting gold in all the cracks.

* * *

**Will**

"How much longer?" The blond hung his head at Nico's bedside.

"If he doesn't wake in another week, I don't know what to tell you really," Kayla whispered.

Will's shoulders slumped.

"He'll be declared in a vegetative state if nothing happens soon."

Will cursed. "He's stronger than anybody else I know, though," he pleaded. He didn't know why he was; it was not like Kayla could change anything. "He's got to come back."

Kayla sat down next to him. She was quiet for a moment. "Will, have you ever considered the fact that he might not be fighting very hard?"

Will's eyes were rimmed red from crying out his heart all the damn time and from pure lack of sleep or mental stability. "He wouldn't just go. He fought so hard to stay alive against that _bastard_ Langen. He would fight now too."

Kayla played with the hem of her nurse's dress. "Maybe he's changed his mind. Maybe he's decided life isn't worth living."

"Life is _always_ worth living," Will's voice trembled. "Always," he raised his voice. Kayla put a hand on his shoulder.

"Perhaps he thinks he's worth more dead than alive. After all, people are paying fortunes to have his head. It's a shame, but that's the type of thing I feel he would think. He's running out of hope, and he's not trying as hard as he had the first few days."

Will reeled like she'd slapped him. "You don't know him!" He pointed a bronze finger at her. "You don't know him at all; he'd never say that. He can't!" He desperately pulled at his own hair. The terrible part was it made sense. Nico was _exactly_ the type of young man to overthink it like this, to throw away the biggest gift all for the sake of others.

"Will, don't make me drag you out of her again for being disruptive," Kayla warned.

"No! I need him to hear me! Hell, Nico, listen to me!" Will demanded, glaring down at the comatose boy. "Do you hear me? You are worth _everything_ to me. _Everything!_ Don't you dare fail on me now. Fight for your life, you idiot. That's your staple! Do you really want to go out like this?"

Kayla was dragging him back. The door slammed open, and nurses flooded the cream-colored room. It had certainly been a while since Will had had an episode of insanity like this.

"Let go of me! I'm his damn doctor; I've been his doctor since he was still living in Jirot. I know him better! You're giving up on him, but I won't! Nico, don't you dare! _Everything_ ," he insisted as they pulled him away. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought for a moment that Nico's heart monitor sped up. "Everything!" he screamed through the hallways all the way out.

The void in his head was screaming: _but to Nico, he would always be nothing._

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth slowly opened her eyes, the sweet scent of roses on Percy's side table lingering around the bed. The first thing she saw was limbs that were certainly not hers entangled with her own.

She tried and failed to carefully pry herself out of Percy's grasp, but every time she moved, Percy just adapted to her in his deep sleep, coddling her like a teddy bear. Usually he would've roused at the slightest motion from her, but she was sure it was a direct result of all the sleep he'd lost the past couple of weeks.

The second time she tried to crawl out of his iron grasp, he woke up. Guilt flooded her senses. Percy peeked at her through one open eye before opening the other. His forehead was creased like he didn't understand why she was here, but he relaxed when he recognized her.

He was sort of adorable like this. Despite his words from last night stinging as a freshly brandished mark, she decided they would burn that bridge down when they got there. Perhaps over breakfast. There hadn't been much talking last night, and thus, no reconciling.

Before he had the chance to declare apologies and plead for her forgiveness and drown himself in self-loathing, she cut him off, lightening the mood however she could.

"I guess what they say is true then," Annabeth thoughtfully murmured.

Percy squinted at her, his eyes still not adjusted to the light. "I beg your pardon?"

"Angry sex is the _best_."

Percy's mouth fell open at her crude language, his eyes comically wide, and Annabeth resisted the urge to laugh. In his surprise, he let her go, and she sat up in triumphant victory at being freed, pulling the covers up to her chin; if he hadn't been awake earlier, he certainly was now. She wished she could have captured his expression for all time. Annabeth cheekily grinned at him.

She mischievously stole the blanket, yanking it off the bed after her, and wrapping herself up like a burrito before sliding off the mattress.

"Shit!" Percy cringed, stark naked in the bed.

"Cold?" Annabeth teased, subtle when admiring the view in front of her.

He scrambled to grab his clothes and cover up. Annabeth's lips curved up in childish amusement.

"Don't bother," she dismissed him. "I'm starving. Let's get breakfast."

"Annabeth—" he protested when she gingerly plucked up his shirt off the ground. "I kind of need that."

She nonchalantly shrugged one shoulder. "I like this view better anyways." She smirked. Percy groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Now." She flicked his forehead. "Food."

Now he looked up, his tone sobering. "I suppose we have a lot to talk about?" he correctly guessed.

Her mouth twisted too, solemn. "We do," she softly agreed. He gazed into her eyes, carefully taking her hands into his as he sat on the edge of the bed. She was only about half a head taller than him, even when he was sitting.

"Okay," he finally acquiesced, his voice soft. He traced circles on the back of her hand. Discussing the tough pills would be easier when you could drown it in fresh fruit and squeezed juice.

"No morning kiss?" Annabeth raised an eyebrow, uncomfortable by the reminder of the weight their morning would hold.

"I'm allowed to kiss you?" Percy searched her face, bewildered.

Annabeth rolled her eyes. Now he was just being plain ridiculous. "I mean you already—"

"Okay, I get it!" he interrupted, his ears turning red at the tips. She concealed a smile. He was a shy, reserved dork, no matter the persona he took on in blind moments of white, hot rage.

"Now get dressed!" she announced, scouring the room for her chemise and linen dress.

"You stole my clothes!" he pointed out. Indeed, the room was bare of most of his necessary garments.

Annabeth shrugged. "I'm pretty sure _you're_ the one who recklessly threw it halfway across the room yesterday."

"Did I?" He winced, mortified, and Annabeth laughed.

"No, I _definitely_ hid it," she confessed. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "It was necessary, you see," she found herself explaining. "And my present self is _definitely_ thanking my past self." She did him a once over and was delighted by the scarlet red blooming across his cheeks.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You're mad with power, woman."

Annabeth smiled to herself, helping him up. It was her own version of a peace offering, one he accepted, though grumbling and cursing. Percy let her set the pace as they made their way down to the mess hall.


	25. thank u, next

**Annabeth**

Annabeth picked awkwardly at the fruit and egg in front of her. She was acutely aware of Thalia menacingly slicing a pear with a goddamn dagger five feet down. Leo was stuffing his face with porridge and slowly pissing off the Lieutenant.

The blonde was officially at a loss for words—something she thought only happened to other, more normal people. Conversely, her appetite had significantly reduced at the thought of the somewhat stomach-twisting conversation they had to have.

"Lately I've been thinking about why I can't become more tolerable," Annabeth broke the painful silence, addressing the issue at hand.

Percy looked up at her, fully dressed now, a proper gentleman. He had somehow managed to elegantly peel an orange, all without getting a drop of juice on his hands. Annabeth blinked, quietly awed. Maybe she _should've_ paid more attention in her manner lessons.

"I beg your pardon?" he said after swallowing.

She set down her silverware then, and Percy mirrored her, picking up the cue that they were finally going to have a serious talk about the wild night from before.

"I should just let you do as you please and be a good, complacent lady."

Percy frowned across from her. "I thought we already talked about this. In that castle room, where, er…" he trailed off. He'd kissed her for the first time then. Annabeth wasn't flustered for once. Instead, she held up her hand.

"Look, this is already a strange situation to be in. I'm afraid if you interrupt, I won't be able to make sense of my jumbled thoughts." She bit her lip, nervously.

Percy conceded, falling silent for her to continue.

"Like I said, I should concede more often. It would save us from a lot of arguing." She looked up to gauge his reaction, but his expression was frustratingly unreadable, blank as a page. She pushed forward. "But I can't, that's just not me. We're two people who never would have met, not if all that happened had not. In a sense, we were brought together because our circumstances were what they were. But now that all of that is done with, we're left with our innate values, the things our parents and siblings drilled into our heads from the day were were born, and so our way of thinking are just much too different. We're left here, mismatched."

There was another awkward silent with Annabeth anxiously awaiting his response.

Percy must've realized she was finished for he finally spoke up.

"So?"

 _That's it?_ Annabeth blinked, unsure of where to tread from there. She hesitated. "So, I was wondering if we're not compatible."

Percy blinked at her before letting out a ragged sigh. "Who gives a damn?"

Annabeth drew back in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Who cares?" he reiterated. "We're already deep in this for better or for worse, and I highly doubt I could pry myself away from you even if you asked. Compatibility is out of the question at this point." He considered his next words carefully, shrugging to himself. "Every time you have an issue with me, come at me like always. Turn the tables upside down, like you always do, argue with me all you want, and we'll make it out okay in the end. Always. That's kind of our thing, is it not?"

"Won't you get tired of it?" She ignored the butterflies in her stomach. His words were refreshingly touching.

Percy paused, thinking for a moment. "I will," he quietly agreed. "But I think that is, in some way, what loving someone is about."

She could feel something in her ribcage melting.

"You're not supposed to say that out loud." She covered her face with her hands, irrationally embarrassed.

Percy laughed across from her, and she thought she really was losing her mind because since when had people had _musical_ laughs? God, she was really screwed. She felt his hands on her wrists, a more tender touch than last night's harsh bruises, gently prying her hands away from her now rosy cheeks.

She winced, and Percy's expression sobered.

"Why didn't you tell me I'd hurt you?" He inspected her. Sure enough, there was a faint blue mark under the surface of her skin on the inside of her right wrist.

"It doesn't hurt," she lied. It only hurt a little. Besides, it couldn't possibly hurt less than his words. No one could wound her like he did, but as she'd realized last night, no one could heal like that either. And she did the same to him.

"You're a terrible liar." Guilt crossed his face at her mild injury with the knowledge that he had caused it, even if it had felt alright, even _good,_ back in the moment. "I'm sorry," Percy apologized, brushing his thumb over the inside of her wrist.

"I don't mind. I think I hurt you a lot worse, anyways," she admitted. They were still again.

"No, you didn't," he promised, but he wasn't looking at her.

"I'm sorry," she told him then, but he didn't look up at her confession.

"Don't be," Percy assured her. "I said terrible, untrue things to you. And you… you weren't entirely missing the mark. The truth hurts, but it is the truth." He blinked down at the orange. "I said it to you in those woods so long ago, and it goes the same for me, even when used as a weapon against me."

She remembered that memory well. It was one of the few clear moments in a foggy film of her life. He had called her out for being a delusional child, and it had been the wake-up call she'd desperately needed.

"You're not like him," she assuaged his pain, or at least she hoped to. She needn't say his name for them to both know who he was talking about.

Percy half-heartedly shrugged to himself. "It hardly matters either way. I'm sorry I asked you to choose. You were right; it was a move of cowardice and desperation. The jealousy of kid denied cookies."

"No." Annabeth's chest burned with a sense of right and wrong.

This… this was wrong.

He was not like Luke, he never would be, and she couldn't allow him to walk around carrying this fear that she hated him or thought of him like that. She never could. In her most fearful moments, she reached for Percy, not Luke. In her darkest moments, she cried on Percy's shoulder, not Luke's. In her most joyful memories, she shot the rare smile at Percy, not Luke. When she randomly remembered strangely entertaining memories in inappropriate situations, it was always about Percy, not his brother.

"No?" questioned Percy, but he wasn't really paying attention, seemingly in a world of his own. She timidly wondered if she was part of it.

"No," she restated and tipped his chin up with her forefinger. "I was mistaken, and I spoke out of spite. You are not him, no matter who says otherwise."

"Stop," he whispered, his voice hoarse. It must've been painful to hear her talk like this, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Please, Percy," she begged. He just shook his head.

"Why can't you take the good from me?" Her chest was concaving. "Why would you rather take my bullets than the compliments? Is this part of your inferiority complex or some other bullshit? You never let me tell you that you're good." Unraveling his reason for existence was a bit extreme this early in the morning.

Percy stared at the table.

"Percy. Look at me when I'm talking to you."

"I don't want to," he mumbled.

Now he was just being childish. "Percy."

He reluctantly looked up, and her heart broke in two. There were stray tears on his eyelashes, and she fell apart, knowing that she had probably caused them. She had probed him too much, had cut him too deep, had gone too far.

Annabeth let out an involuntary gasp. "I'm sorry," she said again. It would never be enough.

" _I'm_ sorry," he fiercely denied her the opportunity to make things right, putting the blame on himself instead. Percy stood up, sweeping the orange peels in a nearby scraps bucket to be composted.

"I'm going to visit Nico. Maybe today's the day." It was painfully optimistic and too forward to be like him.

She watched him go, the familiar, gut-wrenching emptiness returning in a flood of mixed emotions.

* * *

**Nico**

Lying supine on the white sheets, Nico's eyes cracked open. Something had surely woke him up, and he couldn't even remember getting here, and everything _hurt_ like a motherfucker, and part of him wanted to sew his eyes closed and go the fuck back to sleep where at least in his head he could move his limbs at free will without feeling like an old, aching man, where—

"Nico?"

For a moment, he allowed himself a drop of hope, but it only took a millisecond to evaporate. This was not Will. No, this voice he had not heard in some time.

It took all his energy to look to his right. He tried to sit up, but the dark-haired boy was there, telling him not to move, standing up to hover over him like Nico was one of his burdens. Nico grit his teeth, frustrated, but unable to express it.

"Percy," he acknowledged, his voice cracking midway. Percy grabbed a glass of water at his bedside, knowing that he was parched—he had been fed nutrients and water through tubes for the past few days, weeks, Nico didn't even know. He glanced at the clock on the wall across from him, but it looked so alien, and he had to squint.

"About three weeks," Percy murmured, answering a question Nico hadn't even voiced. That was frustrating too, Percy's uncanny ability to see his needs in the air. This was not the man he had wanted to wake up to, but… but he had hurt the one he wished for. That much he remembered.

"Long time," was all Nico managed to say, speaking in halted fragments. He had always been a young man of few words, but at least he had been able to consciously make that decision in the past. Now, he was forced to conform to silence. He reached up to rub his tired eyes, but found that he could hardly move a muscle in his arms.

"Yes," Percy agreed. "Too long," he lamented, somber.

Nico's eyes flicked at the Prince in front of him. Once upon a time, he would have given anything to be laying here, Percy hovering over him, but he had grown up. Maybe Percy had taught him to grow up, too without ever knowing he had. It was a surprisingly introspective thought he had never come across, not till now.

 _Thank you_ , Nico decided, though he would never admit it out loud. No, this secret would come with him to his grave, buried in the dirt with him. _Thank you for being my first love._

Through the years, Percy had become something more human to him, less of an untouchable god. It was a relief.

"You scared the shit out of the girl at the border."

Nico blinked, unable to connect the dots. Percy must've seen the look of confusion pasted on his face, for he explained.

"You dragged yourself to the border? She said she'd never seen someone so close to death, and they had to rush the General to the border to identify you, you had been so badly injured." As if on cue, both of them looked down at the bandages around his torso. With great effort, Nico reached up and touched the heavy bandages on the left side of his face.

They stared at each other in an awkward silence. Nico had enough energy to roll his eyes.

"Why are you here?" It was blunt and perhaps harsh, but life was short, and every word made his lungs burn. Best to be concise.

Percy wasn't surprised. "I bet you were expecting some of your Amazon friends," he whispered. "They've been in and out," he assured Nico. "Especially that blond one. I heard Kayla put him on some restrictions, though."

 _Will._ The heart monitor standing at the foot of the bed spiked. _Fuck._

They both snapped their lines of sight to look at it. Nico's face felt warm all of a sudden. _Shit._ He prayed Percy was oblivious enough. Admitting his… gayness really wasn't something he was hoping to do at this point in his life. It was hard enough to come to terms with himself, and Annabeth already knew, unfortunately for him.

"That was weird," Percy broke the silence.

"Sure," Nico hastily agreed. "Faulty machinery." He coughed convincingly.

Percy frowned. "I'll let Kayla know," he conceded, and Nico wasn't sure if he'd bought his lie, or if he was playing dumb. Perhaps they were both stupid, playing dumb together, and pretending the other one didn't know. Nico cringed at the thought of Percy meeting Will under different conditions.

"I should let the doctors know you're up to check your vitals and all that. You know… for a moment, I really didn't know if you were going to make it." Percy stared him down, ruminating. Nico was reminded of Poseidon. Percy was no doubt a carbon copy with his naturally brooding expression. "I'm glad you did," Percy permitted. "I suppose I never should've doubted your ability to fight."

Nico blinked, taken off guard. "Wait." It came out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He internally cursed himself. Percy stilled, watching him in the evening light carefully. The room was streaked with purple and orange. "You never answered."

_Why are you here? Why would you spend your days here, based off the way you look? Why would you stay with me when we haven't even spoken in ages?_

A shadow passed over his face. "I suppose… I've lost a lot," Percy admitted. "It was nice to have some semblance of stability, even if it was false."

Nico's heart squeezed in his chest, reminded of simpler times, their responsibilities never far away, lingering in dark clouds over their heads, but distanced enough that they could pretend they didn't know of their existence. He was reminded of running through castle hallways with his sister. He remembered Percy scaling a tree while he sat on the grass, cynical even at age five.

" _You're going to fall and die, and then I'm going to have to get the Queen because you're an idiot."_

_Percy's eyes gleamed. "Watch me."_

_Luke, a head above him, had sat next to him, eyeing a bug as it crawled closer to them. He scowled. "He won't fall."_

No, but Nico had. Not from a tree, but from a height indecipherable to him.

"We used to be friends." Percy interrupted his thoughts. "I suppose that's my fault too. I know things have changed, but perhaps I was hoping, albeit deludedly, that this would make it feel like it used to." He watched him, expectantly waiting for a response.

 _We can still be friends._ Nico averted his gaze, and Percy nodded in understanding. He stepped away from the bed, walking out to get a nurse. He could not bring himself to say it, and so he let Percy go.

For now, but not forever. Change was inescapable, and if they had changed to this place in time, maybe they could change some more. Never backward, no, but forward to a better future. One where his body wasn't falling apart, where he could climb trees _with_ him.

Nico closed his eyes, indulging his short-lived euphoria and liberation. Yes, they would climb a great, big sequoia and then look out at the tops of smaller trees, and they would taste the clouds on their tongues and feel the wind in their hair. The green would blossom around them in the idyllic forest. They would chase the aurora over the skyline and relish the rare solitude. The dewy petrichor would rise around them in a halo from the forest ground.

Fearing the fall was for suckers.

* * *

**Drew**

"We're orphans," Silena grossly sobbed across from her.

Drew blinked, slightly unnerved by her sister's running makeup.

Charles handed his wife a handkerchief without another word, and she dabbed at her face before giving in and disgustingly blowing her snot into the clean cloth. Drew cringed.

The funeral for Aphrodite had only been an hour ago, and Silena was crying all over again. Cecily had been kind, and Octavian too, though Drew suspected it was more of a show than anything else.

Drew had no sympathy, not anymore. Their mother had, admittedly, had it coming to her. She had always been spreading lies and making enemies with the wrong sort of people.

And Silena… dear God, who made that woman a Queen? Sumisu was in desperate need of a leader, and Silena's wrecked self was in no shape to be guiding people. Charles was better off by himself, in her opinion.

"Sister, you must move on," Drew frankly stated, hiding her irritation well. Octavian smirked from behind Silena, irking her. She glared at him before continuing. "Do it for your people," she bitterly said. "Do it for Aphrodite, if that makes you feel better."

Silena sniffled pathetically. "I suppose you're right. Mom would never have wanted our land to fall apart over her death."

Drew refrained from rolling her eyes. Aphrodite was one of the biggest attention-hogs she had known. She would've taken great, personal offense if everyone didn't grieve for at least a year.

"Exactly," she said instead, choosing not to be the cause of another bout of tears. "Chin up. We have the press to report to."

Silena nodded, her bottom lip quivering. Beckendorf squeezed her side reassuringly, and a jolt of jealousy sparked in Drew. Life wasn't fair, but not being able to embrace your lover in public due to prejudice was too hard to deal with.

"Thank you, Drew," Silena expressed her gratitude. "You're exactly right, as always. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Drew was left with a bitter taste in her mouth when Octavian looked at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. She was thankful Cecily didn't notice their little exchange.

"Of course," she muttered, allowing Silena's handmaidens to usher her out of the room, doting over her face to apply a fresh coat of paint.

* * *

**Nico**

He scowled as Kayla checked his vitals. Nico was overcome with the sudden urge to rip out the stupid tubes and escape the hellhole.

Percy had quieted over the past half an hour, sitting silently at his bedside, only a few feet away now. Nico was also overtaken by an overwhelming amount of guilt. He would fix this, but only if everyone else would _leave._ He would rather damn himself before he would let any vulnerable part of him shine through with so many people around him.

Reyna was here now, and Annabeth too. Part of him was relieved that Will wasn't there because Kayla had forbid him, but the other part was tortured with curiosity; if there had been no restrictions, would he have showed up?

"I can't believe he did that to you," Annabeth spat, livid. Two angry women in one room was enough to make Nico restless. Reyna's lips were sealed, but her eyes blazed. Still, Nico was grateful to see the blonde still alive and kicking. He couldn't lose another sister, even if this one wasn't blood.

"How many more?" the blonde demanded, spinning to Reyna. Reyna's jaw clenched. "First Jason, then Nico, and then _me._ He's psychochotic. And he's alive! Fucking hell, he's still out there!" Annabeth slammed the water cup against the nightstand, and some of the liquid hopped over the rim, droplets spilling on the light wood.

"Last time you tried to kill him, he nearly killed you," Reyna pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.

Annabeth frowned. "So we need a better plan," she conceded. "But I'm not letting him off the hook this time. He'll fucking pay." Her steel eyes shined, and Nico really didn't want to know the gory details running through her mind.

"We'll talk about this later." Reyna yielded, passing another glance over Nico. "Feel better," she offered, her expression softening at the abundance of his white bandages and sickly-colored patches of skin.

He was finally rainbow, Nico mused to himself, even on the outside. Bruises of various hues covered his surface, serving as a reminder of Octavian's brutal attack.

"I'll come see you later," Annabeth reminded him, brushing his hair out of his face like Bianca used to. He felt a lump in his throat at her habitual action. "And don't worry about that motherfucker. I'll take care of it. I'm going to fix this for you," she promised him, lightly resting her palm against his forearm. "You just get better, Nico. Maybe you can train me better, so he doesn't beat me as well next time." Mirth danced in her eyes, but he could see through it. She was drowning in relief.

"Okay," he whispered for her sanity, watching her follow in suit behind Reyna.

He stared at Percy and the ground in between them. "I don't bite, you know."

"Glad to see you haven't entirely lost your sense of humor," Percy rumbled.

"Octavian wasn't as impressed." Nico was hopelessly tempted to ignore the elephant in the room. "I get it, you know."

Percy's facial features scrunched up. "I beg your pardon?"

God, he still sounded stuffy like the rest of those idiot Calbournes. "I understand longing for stability."

"Oh." He hollowed his cheeks, sucking in air desperately. "I probably shouldn't have said that out loud."

"Still as honest as ever, I see," Nico remarked, sitting up in bed, though struggling. Percy was conflicted to help him, he could see it on his face, but when he shot him a dark glare, Percy stayed seated. Nico sat forward, folding his hands in his lap. "I would've thought Annabeth would have broken you by now."

Percy blinked, bewildered. "She told you?"

Nico rolled his eyes so hard he feared they would fall out in his hands. "Still an idiot, too. You guys are so obvious."

Percy's mouth parted in surprise. "I—"

"Imagine if Athena found out." The corner of Nico's mouth curved up in amusement. The old Queen would've beheaded Percy in a heartbeat, the rivalry flaming just as bright as ever. Centuries of hatred would not end with Percy and Annabeth's probably disturbingly sweet love.

More surprisingly, Nico was shocked with his own calmness. The reminder of Percy didn't stab him in the gut, no… he was _happy_ for him. "Please never talk about it with me, though," he added hastily. "It's probably gross."

Percy coughed. "That would be indecent," he pointed out.

"Of course it would. Everything is these days," he muttered under his breath. A muscle in Percy's cheek twitched, and Nico knew he had heard. The intrusive image of Will pushing him against the cabin wall came to mind, and Nico prayed that he wasn't flushing; pink stained his white face much too easily.

"Percy, I know what you're thinking."

"Hmm?"

"Don't beat yourself up about it."

Percy's face fell. "I can't help it."

"You're not responsible for me," Nico reminded him, and it was freeing to hear out loud. It must've had the same effect on Percy, for he shuddered like his soul was exiting his body. "And I am not responsible for the version of me you've created in your head."

Percy reeled back like he had hit him.

"Percy. Stay with me, okay? Pay attention. We can talk about this. We're adults."

"You're not," he whispered after a pause. "You're _sixteen._ And I'm so sorry."

"Percy!" Nico snapped, and it took all his energy that Percy's head shot up to look at him. "Do you understand me? You are _not_ responsible for this. I have made my own choices, and you have made your own. We parted ways to satisfy our own needs, and this is where we happened to land up. And I know you know a million things about me and vice-versa that we'll never say out loud, but you don't know me anymore. You just don't. And it's okay, but I'm not the same kid I was a decade ago."

Percy's head fell into his hands. "I thought you were going to die," he admitted. "I couldn't fathom it, Nico; it made me _crazy._ I can't explain it. You're the last… the last piece of what once was, and I know I should let it go, I _know_ it—it's destroying so much around me—but I can't. I can't let you grow up without feeling like I've thrown you to the wolves. I scared her so badly, Nico. You don't even know the half of it; you should've seen her face."

Nico watched him fall apart in front of him. When Percy smiled to himself, it was toothy and fake, and when he laughed, it was a cacophony of metallic hollow sounds that reverberated through his hunched figure and chilled the bones of those who knew this was not the boy they used to know.

He knew without a doubt he was speaking of Annabeth.

"I've never seen her so terrified of me. I can't do it again, Nico. And I can't have you dying left and right, and I can't shelter you, but I _wish_ I could," Percy expressed, wearing his heart on his sleeve. It was a bravery Nico had never learned: the ability to be vividly in touch with one's own feelings, the ability to unapologetically feel everything life had to offer. "And I _saw_ you sneak a cigarette back at the palace after everyone had gone to bed, did you know? But I could never bring myself to tell you about it. What was I supposed to say? You're slowly killing yourself? Something tells me you already know that." He raked his fingers through his messy hair.

Nico was resigned with the knowledge that only he knew this side of Percy.

"You can't blame me for being self-destructive. I think you've got the streak in you too, only you fight it." Nico eyed him.

Percy laughed humorlessly. "I guess that's true."

"Let me tell you a secret, Percy." Nico picked at the peeling tape around the cotton soaking up his blood. "We were born to die," he whispered. "We were never meant to last. A reign is never eternal. It is short-lived, and it is painful. The life of Kings is never one of glory, and so my philosophy stands. If we are destined to go up in flames, why should it not be the biggest, brightest flame? Why should I not choose my end if I have already come to terms with it?"

"That's suicidal talk." Percy was panic-stricken. "I _knew_ shit was wrong with you. Nico, I don't know how to fix this, you've got to—"

" _Listen_ to me; you're not listening." Nico glanced to Percy's hands which were trembling on their own accord. "I am telling you this is my choice. And you can't change my mind, and neither can Will. This is my peace, do you understand? I pray you'll find yours."

"Nico," Percy choked out. He sounded like he was going to cry, and Nico's sympathy burned for him.

"We're going to make it out of these wars, Percy," Nico promised. "You're going to be okay, as okay as we'll ever be. But you can't have these expectations anymore, you can't linger on the past. It took me some time to learn…" His eyes darkened, his family flashing in the back of his mind. "We've got to move on for the sake of those around us and for ourselves. Things will play out like how they were meant to, and we can't change it. We can't control everything, and the sooner you understand it, the more free you'll feel. I'm not your responsibility anymore. I can make my own decisions, and you can move forward, and we can talk again, but you don't have to watch me like I'll die any second."

"I can't let it go." He shivered. He was squeezing Nico's shoulder tightly, but Nico hardly felt it. It was probably the drugs Kayla had put him on.

"Get some sleep, Percy."

"Nico?"

"I'm going to be okay. We'll be okay," he repeated, consoling the older boy. "Luke's going to be okay, and Annabeth, too. And Reyna, and Piper, and Drew, and Silena, and Beckendorf, and Octavian too. I'm not going to shrivel up without your watch." Percy tensed up.

"Everyone's going to get what they had coming for them, and that's just how it goes. Don't stress about it. Go talk to Annabeth. Sweep her off her feet, for god's sake, if you're anything like your father."

Percy's shoulders were shaking now. "I can't leave you," he admitted.

"But I'm not going anywhere. We're friends, are we not?"

"We are," Percy promised. "I didn't mean to leave you alone."

"I left you too," Nico reminded him. "But I forgive you," he assured him, pushing him back. "Now get the hell out of here. You're practically translucent. This is not the end, Percy."

"It feels like the end."

"Change always does." Nico shrugged. "It took me a while to get used to as well, but now that I have, it's… enlightening. We're going to win these wars, and you're going to grow old with Annabeth, and I'm going to be there for you, even if I don't happen to be right there."

"See, it's that talk." Percy pointed a shaky finger at him. "You talk like you're already dead, Nico."

"I already told you. This is my way of coping. And I have no doubt I will go before you do, so I will comfort you now, even if the inevitable is decades away."

"I can't even _begin_ to think about it, Nico." There were tears in his eyes, stubborn yet persistent.

"Then don't. Dwelling on the future doesn't do you any good. For me, it's balance. For you, it's a burden. So, do as you will."

"Get better, okay?" Percy desperately pleaded, but he nodded. "Come talk to me. Don't waste away like a ghost if you feel like shit, okay? You're… family. You always have been, and you'll always be welcome."

"Thank you," Nico permitted. Percy sat back, satisfied. "We'll train later."

" _Nico."_ Percy was exasperated.

He raised an eyebrow. "What did I just say?"

Percy's fists balled up in frustration. "Fine," he reluctantly agreed. "We'll train later. Much, much later," he muttered, resisting the urge to fuss over Nico's health. It would certainly be quite the learning curve. "You're terrible," he accused. "Making this harder on me."

Nico offered the weakest of smiles. "I'm so offended." He could remember why he had liked Percy so much, looking at him now.

"You should be," Percy mumbled, standing up, opening the infirmary door to step out. He looked at him one last time, hesitating and reluctant to leave him alone. "Nico, I…" He shrugged helplessly, vaguely gesturing to their surroundings.

Nico's heart warmed despite himself. "Ditto, idiot."

Percy smiled to himself, and this time it was genuine because the corners of his eyes crinkled too. "I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow." He nodded to himself, as if to assure himself, before disappearing out of sight. His mind was certainly a complicated one; Nico mulled over the Calbourne Prince for a moment before ripping an IV out of his arm. The sting didn't come till after, but he hardly cared. If Kayla wasn't going to release him, he'd release himself.

He had another healer to make amends with.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth warily peeked out the peephole on the cabin door, only to see nothing but the pitch black of night. She swung open the door, frowning to herself.

The blonde scanned her surroundings, searching for the knocker, but saw no one. Then she looked down. There was a white envelope at her feet, unsealed and heavy with thick parchment. It must've been Malcolm; only royals had access to such expensive paper.

She bent down and picked it up, scanning the front for some sign of the sender, but instead of her name scrawled in her big brother's familiar, classy handwriting, there was nothing but the date, etched in swoopy letters: _July 10th, 1878._

Annabeth nearly missed the big, cardboard box in front of her, preoccupied by the mysterious mail. She reached out for it, her fingers tensing when she realized just how heavy it was. Tucking the letter under her arm, she used all her strength to drag it past the doorway, quietly closing and locking the door behind her—Percy was getting some much-needed shut-eye. (He had walked into the cabin about two hours ago, kissed her fiercely, said something about oranges, and then promptly passed out on the bed.)

It was only once she had brought the box inside that the unmistakable stench hit her. It had been lost, drifting through the wind when outside, but now it was unbearable. Her eyes widened in fear and sickening understanding. All comforting thoughts of Percy left her stranded.

Dropping the envelope to the ground with reckless abandon, she fell to her knees, quickly undoing the thick rope, binding the box closed. Dried blood stained the inside of the box, but that was hardly the biggest of her worries anymore.

Annabeth stared at the corpse in front of her, her entire body uncontrollably shaking, her heart throbbing painfully in her chest. She felt that she was going to have a stroke. The blond hair was indisputable, and his face was paler than she would've thought humanly possible. More than anything else, there was some sick relief in her for knowing he was dead. Her eyes darted to the envelope she'd abandoned in terror. Something told her the relief would not last.

She scrambled for the paper behind her. Annabeth's hands were visibly trembling as she carefully inspected the paper. Scanning the paper hungrily, the sinking feeling only multiplied. This was so much worse than she could've thought possible. Her mouth went dry, her palms pooling with unwanted perspiration.

 _I heard he had given you some trouble, but nobody touches what is mine. Three weeks in his prison? I would have paid you a visit of my own, but I would never trust those Langen creeps. Do not worry yourself_ — _it was not a merciful death, nor quick._

Annabeth's stomach twisted into knots at the words, especially those four letters: _m-i-n-e._

_Consider it an early present, my small favor to you. If you would like, you can consider it an apology for leaving you behind. What a shame that was. That stupid Langen was right about one thing, however: you would have made a damn good Queen._

_Happy early 18th Birthday, Princess. I've said it once, but I'll say it again: I do hope we will be celebrating together._

The note fell out of her hand, drifting to the ground like a leaf. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth when she read the signature. Even without the closing, it was inequivocabile. She would recognize the voice in the writing anywhere.

"Percy!" she screamed bloody murder, desperate not to be alone with the memory of _two_ monsters. This was too much, this was too much, this was too—

Percy stumbled into the room, his hair sticking up in every which direction. Guilt shot through her at waking him, at interrupting his energy recovery, at being afraid, and a burden, and… she couldn't do this. Percy was stunned silent, and then his expression froze when he recognized the face.

"You killed Octavian?" he hissed. "How did he even get here? Annabeth—" Percy dropped to his knees, dutifully sitting by her side, but then he paled at the realization that this corpse had been dead for much too long to be a fresh murder.

"No," she held up the note now, pressing it into his warm palm. She was scooting away from the body, almost subconsciously.

"No?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the grim look on her face. "Who could've possibly—" The color drained from his face.

"Luke did."


	26. T Is For Trauma

**Percy**

Shadows danced in his peripheral decision as he stared up at the Queen. The sun had begun to rise outside, but the wooden hall was cold nonetheless. Annabeth's relentless quivering was a testament to that.

"He was delivered here by _your_ blood," Artemis hissed, her expression sour and icy. "So you will do the explaining first, _boy_."

Percy stiffened, disrespect lingering on the tip of his tongue. They had come to inform her of the murder, not for her criticism. It wasn't like _he'd_ stabbed Octavian (though not for lack of trying). "I was asleep, I already told you. She screamed, and I ran to see what the fuss was all about."

Annabeth was still shivering next to him; Octavian's corpse must have been one hell of a scare. And she had never seen dead people up close, he could only guess. She had never been trained to fight in wars, only in luncheons with allies with her delicate tea-serving abilities. Manners classes could only get her so far.

Reyna hung her head across the room, concealing herself in the dark. She had always had a way of becoming invisible.

"Is this true?" Artemis snapped her attention to the blonde.

Annabeth bit her bottom lip, but all Percy could concentrate on was her hands, clutching at her stomach and begging her lungs to breathe normally again. She had already thrown up once from the corpse.

"Yes," she meekly muttered.

Thalia had dark circles under her eyes from being roused this early. She eyed him carefully, but Percy offered no insight into his line of thought.

"I say we take what victories we can, Artemis. The man is dead for better or worse, and we have one enemy out of the way."

"Well, I shall take no solace in this death," Artemis hissed, turning on Thalia. "Do not be so foolish that you blindly accept this as a victory, Lieutenant. He is dead, but dead because of a more formidable enemy, one capable of killing a man we have been hunting for months now in five minutes. And he knows our location. We will be moving to a new base, a more secure base at the crack of dawn."

Thalia took her side by Reyna, submitting to the Queen's anger. It would not fare well for her to receive her wrath as well.

"This is ridiculous," Percy said out loud, not entirely with thinking. Reyna shot him a wary glance at his words, but he found himself more frustrated than otherwise.

"It is," he repeated himself. "He's dead, and Luke is still on the go. Thalia is more than correct. We cannot blame my blood for our ignorance, for our inadequacy researching our enemies. We did not know how strong he is, but now that he has shown his true colors, we do, and we are not worse for it. Additionally, he eliminated another enemy, one we would never consider siding with to eliminate Luke himself, so where is the loss?"

"First off, there is no _we_ ," the Queen snapped.

Percy rolled his eyes. So much for making peace with the former royals. "Do not worry yourself; it was for pleasantries more than anything else," he bit back, and Artemis glared. "I would never _dream_ of affiliating myself with _your_ likeness."

Reyna slapped a hand over her mouth at his outward rudeness. Percy did not back down; the Queen had started it.

Artemis regarded him shrewdly. "You are still just a boy, Perseus. You may believe you know better, but you do not. You are delusional if you believe it is better that your brother knows who we had fought with. Now he shall know our tactics, our failures, _everything_. Our weaknesses make him stronger, and our being here still, after he has blatantly warned us of his knowledge, is a threat to everything Amazons have stood for."

"If I may, Queen—" Reyna faltered.

"You may not, General," Artemis quipped.

Her eyes did not stray from his, but Perseus stood his ground. Whereas Annabeth had fallen to her knees at Artemis' feet like a proper Amazon, he had done no such thing. He was not an Amazon, he was a Prince of his own right, the rightful King of Thasite, and he would not bow to fear itself. For a group of people who hated monarchies, their organization seemed an awful like one at times. A 'democracy' was still a dictatorship if the votes were counted in fear and pure intimidation. In fact, Percy had more respect for the Canadians who _truly_ embodied democracy fully, but he would not voice the thought now.

"We will attack his forces tomorrow," Artemis demanded. Reyna's jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered herself before the Queen could notice. "We must show our strength, we must fight back."

"You are making a mistake," Percy boldly stated. Thalia buried her head in her hands at his words, but he would not let it go so easily. He glanced to Annabeth to gauge her reaction, but she was emptily staring at the cracked floor. "You cannot fight fire with fire."

Artemis flared up. "I can, boy, and you will see. We will take their numbers like never done before." She said 'boy' like it was a disgusting, germy word she wished to rid herself of.

"You have not fought a war for decades," Percy countered, and Reyna cursed under her breath. He was pretty much calling her old.

"And you are a foolish child. Fighting one war does not make you a hero, Perseus," Artemis spat.

Percy bubbled internally with frustration.

"I was the youngest general in the front lines in all of Thasite history! I _know_ my place, I assure you, and I also know you do not know how it works anymore!"

"If you believe yourself so useful, you will fight too, Perseus," Artemis ordered.

Annabeth covered her ears on the ground, and Percy felt the guilt coming back. It would have to wait, however, for this to be finished.

"So be it," Percy spat back. "I fear _no_ war, but this does not change the fact that your tactics are outdated, charted on maps for us to _learn_ how to fight growing up! With all due respect, leave this to your strategists. Do not be rash. You will pay in blood for your mistakes, and I imagine that is not a chance you are willing to take," he advised.

Artemis glared down at him. "In this world, Perseus," she began coldly, "it is my word against yours. The only difference is, mine outbids yours. Every time. Do not forget it. Reyna, prepare the soldiers. Thalia, evacuate all. We will migrate further up north. And dispose of the Langen's body. I do not wish to see his disgusting face in any life."

"You must burn him," Percy urged.

"I will not. Cremation is for my comrades only. Heroes alone receive that honor. I will leave him to rot."

"You will not!" Percy's fists clenched. "He is dangerous like this; anyone can extract his DNA and take from his body as they wish. For the love of god, woman, you will heed my advice for this alone. You can throw his ashes in a trash can for all I care, but you _will_ burn him."

Annabeth flinched beside him, and Percy stepped forward to shield her, putting himself between her and the Queen. Artemis stood like she was going to strike him, but she settled down, tapping her ivory fingernails against the armchair.

"Reyna, dispose of his ashes then," she gritted out.

"Yes, of course." Reyna ducked out of the room, followed closely by Thalia.

Percy shook his head to himself. "It is my word against yours," he quietly agreed, mirroring her prior words. He wistfully glanced down at Annabeth, still guilty at the state she was in. "I hope your comrades have as much faith in you as you have in yourself."

Without waiting for dismissal, he shouldered Annabeth's weight, guiding her out the dingy doors.

* * *

**Nico**

"Oh no you don't, di Angelo! I swear to god, I'll send you to the underworld the hard way!"

Nico grinned as he sprinted to the cabin, his chest aching from the wounds, but with Kayla screaming bloody murder a few yards behind him, he had good incentive. Your nurse's threat of homicide—however unlikely she tries to make it sound—will flat dampen down your spirits.

Kayla huffed behind him, infuriated, and she stepped up onto the stairs just as he slid across the porch.

He smirked, reveling in her red, angry face and heavy breathing before promptly slamming the door in her face. Now that _that_ was taken care of…

Nico spun on his heels, coming face to face with a stunned medic. A familiar blond, sun-kissed, swoon-worthy, _gorgeous_ —

"Nico?" His baby blue eyes were blown wide with fear, and his mouth was hanging slightly ajar in pure astonishment. He was skinnier than Nico remembered—a realization that made Nico feel guiltier than he had in awhile.

His mouth pressed into a thin line, and just when Nico thought he was going to yell at him or smack him for being stupid or burst into a puddle of tears, Will did the most unexpected, quite possibly Will-Solace thing in the world: he crushed the smaller boy in a rib-cracking hug as if their limbs intertwined could meld them together, so that they would never again be apart.

Nico stood against the door, stunned, before reaching out to timidly bury himself in Will's bear embrace.

" _Youff-subbosed-tber-ithet."_

Nico pulled away to unmuffle the medic, puzzled by his garbled language. "What?"

"You're supposed to be in bed," he berated.

Now Nico rolled his eyes. Of course the first thing Will would do is scold him for releasing himself without a proper discharge. Not for running off into the woods and nearly being killed, not for not waking up, not for being an idiot and neglecting him out of fear before he'd gone into a coma, not for being a stupid little kid who didn't know how to express himself.

"Really, _that's_ the first thing I get?" Nico didn't shove him off, even if Will was squeezing him _still_ and a little too hard, might he add.

"Oh, you're an _idiot_ ," Will hissed between his teeth, glaring at him. "But I think you already know that."

Nico offered a cheeky little smile. "Maybe," he half-agreed and finally pried himself out of Will's death-grip. The blond still clung onto him, even as he urged Nico to sit down.

The runaway King eased onto the couch. It felt like it had been forever since he had seen the world through his own eyes, but only because of how different Will seemed. If no one had told him he'd been in a coma at all, he might've been inclined to believe he'd only been out for thirty minutes. That, and the fact that he'd heard stray pleas and prayers for his well-being while under a coma. It was a sobering memory, one that twisted his stomach just the wrong way.

"We need to go back," Will reminded him, breaking him far from his thoughts. "Eventually, I mean. Your little escape kept them from properly monitoring you."

"Eventually?" Nico asked no one in particular. "I thought you'd be on my case to be examined immediately." He fiddled with the loose, green thread on the cushion next to him.

"Maybe I'm not as eager to return you as I should be," Will reluctantly admitted, shrugging his slight shoulders.

Nico hid the tiniest of smiles, remembering Percy's mental breakdown in contrast to Will's calm reaction. Will's breakdowns had occurred while he was _in_ the coma. In fact, he distinctly remembered hearing them, but it was still funny in its own way to think about.

"You don't understand how long I had to console hysterical people," Nico murmured. "I'm glad to be home."

They both froze at his words, turning to look at each other in an almost comedic unison.

"Home?" Will echoed.

A slow grin encompassed Will's face, just as Nico shrunk in mortification. Will was such a dramatic little ass, and he just _knew_ he would make a big deal of it.

Will awkwardly coughed. "I mean, nevermind. It's no big deal."

At that, Nico rolled his eyes: Will was a crap liar. Nico covered his face in resignation. "Go ahead."

Will's poorly-built facade crumbled, and he broke out in sheer enthusiasm. "I can't believe you're capable of saying such adorable things now!"

"Oh my _god_."

Will clasped his hands together, grinning from ear to ear.

"Whatever choices I have made in my life that have led me to _this_ moment… please know I regret them, every single one of them," Nico muttered, but it didn't seem to deter the ecstatic medic in the least. "Cupid must've screwed up to land me with you," he deadpanned, trying to save face.

"Oh, hush; you don't mean that," Will revealed, beaming. He sidled up to him, carefully taking Nico's bandaged hand in his own. "But in all seriousness, that's very sweet. I'm glad you're okay."

Nico blinked, unsure how to handle Will's earnestness and honesty. It was… refreshing.

"I'm sorry." He internally cringed; it sounded like he was apologizing for being 'sweet' (though he certainly wished he could). "For not telling you about Octavian," he clarified.

Will's mouth was as straight as a ruler. "You never did tell me what exactly happened."

"Right. Remind me in my next coma, and I'll give you the full details," he sarcastically drawled. Will smacked him lightly for his cheek. "It was an anonymous note," Nico recalled. "Telling me they could fix something."

"Fix what?" Will pressed. Perhaps he believed he could fix it, Nico mused. That would certainly be the day.

"Nothing specific. He just said he could fix my problem. I was curious. I was not sure who it could be or what problem, and I had never imagined Octavian had breached our location. At the worst, it could have been a bitter Amazon. So I went." Nico glanced down at the gauze around his arm. "He said he discovered immortality. He said he could resurrect people. So, in short, I battled him, and a few of his goons, and I now I remember what it feels like to lose in battle. It's certainly been a while, and I can't say I miss it."

Will shot up. "No."

Nico looked at him strangely. "Yes? Why would I miss it?"

"No, you don't understand." He profusely shook his head. "That's what Annabeth told us too when she came back, that he had discovered how to play the role of the Gods. She had unknowingly helped him, but she had hoped she had made a mistake. If he told you otherwise, then… then it must be true. If he's still out there, we're all in danger. Our _graves_ are in danger."

Nico's expression darkened. "I should have killed him while I could." He struggled to his feet, and Will watched, albeit conflicted to ask. Before he could, "I'm going to find Annabeth," said Nico.

Will's jaw tensed. "To confirm her story?"

Nico shook his head, reaching for the doorknob. "I believe you. No, to _warn_ her, to warn everyone. Something will be coming, something _terrible_. And we don't know what it is yet."

Will hesitated. "It's barely five in the morning. I'm sure she's asleep."

At that, Nico paused. "Is it really?" Being in a coma had caused him to lose track of time, and he hadn't really realized the effects until right then.

"July 11th, 1878. He glanced at a small, platinum Edward Prior pocket watch Nico's grandfather had bought in London decades before. Nico had gifted it to Will about a week before his coma. "And 5am," the blond confirmed.

Nico's knees buckled under him at the shock. Will, horrified, jumped out of his seat, rushing to help him up. "You're already injured!" he berated, his voice laced with concern.

"It's _July."_ Last time he had been awake, it had been _June._ Nico couldn't ignore the worry filling Will's eyes.

"Well, you were out for about two weeks or so," Will admitted, dragging him back to the couch. He ran to get him a cup of water, filtering the boiled stream water into a cup. "Are you okay? I know it's quite the shock."

"I'm fine," Nico strained, sipping at the glass, lost in thought. "Perhaps I will wait until later in the morning. She must be asleep still."

"She was never the early-riser," Will agreed, recalling his days serving the Princess. "Quite the mess, actually."

A muscle in Nico's cheek twitched; he could already imagine Annabeth flushing red with anger at the accusation. Will was _such_ a royal servant, always eager to dish out the news on the royals, no matter how much he loved Annabeth. Nico could still recall his time in the Pevanshire castle—Bianca's handmaidens had always been quick to flit their dark eyelashes up at him, their whispering ceasing the second he entered the room. It was funny now that he knew why he'd never felt any attraction towards them.

Amused, Nico smothered his smile behind the rim of the cup.

"So fill me in on the current events," he demanded, and Will got to work, narrating the recent news with big hand gestures that reminded Nico all too much of himself. He supposed his Italian roots were rubbing off on Will. Adorable.

* * *

**Percy**

"Percy, you're going to fight?" Annabeth was close to falling apart, fragile after all that had happened to her.

He chewed inner cheek, thoughtful.

"Yes. Artemis has ordered it for my disrespect."

"Percy, no," she gasped. She looked like she was sucking in desperately for air, like she couldn't breathe, and Percy was sitting beside her on the rickety, wooden bench, his hand splayed across her back immediately.

"Breathe, Annabeth," he whispered, taking deep breaths with her to slow her panic. She imitated his example, calming. "Now speak," he encouraged, once she had settled once more.

"Your PTSD," the blonde desperately reminded him, her eyes wide with fear.

 _Fear for me._ Percy jolted with surprise. He had never been feared for before like this. It was an odd feeling.

"I know," he acknowledged. There was no point in hiding it; she had seen the surface of the effects anyways when, late at night, he would restlessly turn and toss, probably waking her from her own sleep. Yet another guilt to pile on top of his growing list. He was a burden, even in the subconscious state.

Maybe it was because he had never said it out loud, but Annabeth curled over with full realization. Having someone point out your illness was a _very_ different thing than coming to terms with it yourself. They sat quietly for a few minutes.

"They're going to eat you alive," she whispered, morose.

Percy shrugged. "It was a long time coming."

Annabeth clasped her hands together, and he was suddenly aware that his own hands were clammy and cold.

"That's not fair," she muttered.

Percy stared at his boots. "Life's not fair, but I'll deal. It's my job."

Annabeth glared at him. "You shouldn't have to." She stood up hastily, so fast she nearly got dizzy. He reached out to steady her, but she jerked away. He recognized that face immediately.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm coming too."

Percy wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but not that. "Are you kidding me?" He laughed, but it was hollow.

"I'm serious, Percy."

Now he schooled his expression. "No way. You just got out Octavian's prison!" he argued.

Annabeth glared at him. "Don't tell me what to do."

Percy groaned, exasperated. He ran his fingers through his hair, thoroughly fucking up his already mussed hair. "I'm not." She always did this, falling back on her accusations when she was drowning in doubt, painting him as the antagonist. It was a coping mechanism, but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

"Good. I'm glad we've settled it then."

Percy sat with his feet flat on the floor like a true Victorian royal, his hands resting neatly on his knees. "We've settled nothing!" Of course, his tone was very much contrasting.

Annabeth's lips tightened into a thin line. "Yes, we have. I'm fighting with everyone else. My break has been much too long—"

"—barely a few days," Percy interrupted.

"— _and_ ," she continued as if he had never spoken, "I can be there with you, with everyone else. It is partly my responsibility if things go awry. If my strategies fail, I must be there to take the fall."

"But it's not yours! It's Artemis', and she's crazy. She will not listen to reason, and Luke will be there… mostly likely."

Annabeth blinked. "He won't be able to stop me."

"I don't doubt it," Percy tried to assure her. "But he's a hard fear to face so soon, Annabeth."

Her expression hardened, and he knew with a sinking feeling that she had already made up her mind. So stubborn. "I don't fear him," she let out through gritted teeth.

"Fine," Percy conceded, though they really _had_ not settled anything. "But I swear to god, if he happens to be there, I'm handcuffing you to a goddamn jet."

Annabeth's cheeks went pink, not unnoticed by Percy. He realized his own innuendo too late, and he looked the other way before she realized he knew.

"And I'm training with you before we leave," Percy added.

Annabeth frowned. "I know how to fight, Percy."

He stared at her. He loved her, he really did, but sometimes she was seriously delusional. "Not like this," he mumbled solemnly, "not against a royal like one from _my_ family."

Maybe it was something in his voice, but she shut up, and together they basked in silence that would not last for long as the sun fully claimed its place in the blue sky.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Dirty and skinny kids filed into the underground train quietly. Annabeth had thought the train had stopped working decades ago, but as Artemis revealed later when it was just the two of them, Reyna had convinced the royals of such so that they could use it for themselves. Clever. And it would be useful now as the Amazons and Canadians alike evacuated to further up Canada.

All other alliances had been alerted like Malcolm, but it was still unnerving. If they were attacked, well… there went all their resources. Besides, many of them would be staying behind with close to nothing. They planned to attack Luke's base but the very next morning.

Annabeth flinched. Luke had been right; they would perhaps be spending her birthday together after all, only this time they hoped to leave with some semblance of control. They couldn't take him down so easily, no, but they could certainly shake his resources and instill some fear in the Boy King. That much was crucial.

As Annabeth checked off numbers, counting people as they boarded, she gnawed on her bottom lip.

Maybe Percy had been right after all.

After pondering over decision to fight in this attack for some more time, she had realized the true weight behind her rash words. She would maybe see Luke for the first time since she and Percy escaped his cage. She would see royals she hadn't seen in forever, now fighting on another side if she was unlucky, if their attack wasn't as subtle as she hoped. She would see the death of those she prayed she never would.

Her stomach twisted in knots. If she changed her mind now, Percy would understand. He would not tease her—he was not like that—but it would take something from her that she didn't have left anymore. No—she could not go back on her word now. She would trek through. She would make it out okay. Something told her that if she came too close to death, Luke wouldn't hesitate to kill her enemies _for_ her.

With the uneasy protection of both brothers in her mind, Annabeth breathed a sigh of relief as the train bolted up the north tracks, disappearing out of sight. Percy stood near the edge, watching them go in stony silence. Piper was whispering something in his ear that she couldn't quite make out from where she was standing. Percy's hands were clenched behind his back, and she had no doubt whatever tidbit of information she had delved into, he wasn't happy about it.

"Annabeth!"

Her attention snapped to Thalia. The spiky-haired girl had a golden bandana in her hair, and she was leaning lazily against the dirty brick walls without a care for the germs. Annabeth tried not to focus on it.

"Yes?" she voiced, unsure. Thalia approached her, her footsteps loud in the quiet, echoing tunnel. The empty space the train left behind made every sound heighten by ten.

"Meeting in the boardroom. Last minute plans." Her expression darkened. "You sure about this, Annie?" The nickname fell short in its usual malice.

Annabeth hesitated, and then she reluctantly shook her head no. "I'm not," she voiced her anxiety. "Percy might be right; Artemis is out of her mind," Annabeth whisper-yelled. Thalia nodded. This was not new information. "But… I'm also excited. I know we will lose some. It's inevitable," Annabeth stated, grim. Thalia's face fell. It must not have been what she had wanted to hear, but it was the truth, and Annabeth refused to shy away from it. "But we will gain too. I just know it. I can only hope we gain more than we lose, so that it is worth it. It's all or nothing, Thals. If we really push this, maybe we can scare them enough. We'll be so much closer to their submission."

Her eyes glittered, and Thalia warily stepped back. "Easy, tiger."

Annabeth let out a breath. "Sorry." She knew her thirst for blood was as unnerving as it was a motivator.

"As long as you have some faith, I'm in," Thalia confirmed. "I trust your word, and I know you know what you're doing so… so I'm here. Whatever you need," Thalia promised.

Annabeth's heart warmed. "Thank you."

Thalia dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Now let's hurry. We don't want to be late."

Annabeth glanced around to see everyone else had retreated back to the base. Percy had even taken her coat with him, knowing her penchant to accidentally leave things behind. Annabeth allowed Thalia to guide her out of the winding corridors as they stepped out into the mid-noon heat.

…

She could hear her name in their mouths, like a drum echoing through the stadium. It was surreal, to say the least.

As a royal, she had been famous too, but not like this, not for being more than Epresh's sweetheart, a pretty little thing. _They knew her name._ They knew she would cut them if they tested her, they knew her brain was quicker than her mouth sometimes, they knew blood was inevitable, and she had never felt less like her old self than she did right then.

If the royals back home saw who she had turned into, she didn't think they'd recognize her. _And I think that's okay with me,_ she inwardly confirmed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Percy's eye. He had smoothly slipped into a crevice where no one could see him—but she could. Clever. However, it would not shield him. He stuck out like a sore thumb, a man who had clearly stated that his alliance laid with Annabeth and her alone. And he could not hide; he was the type of guy everyone was automatically drawn to, like a magnet.

Annabeth had never really thought of Percy as _small._ It was simply put, preposterous, fucking ludicrous, _insane._ She was tall for a girl, but he was still taller than her, and though he was lean, he was strong with visible muscle definition. But here, surrounded by strangers that would probably never fully welcome the ex-Prince, he appeared out of place to her observant eye.

She could only remember the grace with which he had strolled her castle's hallways. No— _Epresh's_ castle; it had never really been hers, not really. Just like she had never really been Epresh's Princess, but a woman of her own independence, never quite belonging to a land, a people, or a man. Only ever her family, and even then, that was only Malcolm.

And if she had thought Percy was comfortable in her castle or even his own, it was only fair to acknowledge his ease when in battle, whether that was out fighting in wars bigger than him or in a training arena. She was shocked with a momentary surge of jealousy coursing through her veins. Had this all not turned to shit, Percy would have been perfect for inheriting his place in society. He would have been content with what his parents had left him. He had an undeniable passion for justice, and more so, he had always seemed to fill the role of a leader effortlessly. It was frustrating, to say the least.

She could remember his panther-like agility and slick, smooth movements on the battle ground. It was how people were supposed to feel in their homes, Annabeth supposed. Comfortable. But the castle had never been her home. She hadn't wanted to leave as a traitor, her name dragged through the mud, and her pride stained with blood she hadn't wished for, but she had wanted to leave nonetheless. And deep down, the stubborn blonde couldn't deny the truth behind her reckless thoughts. She'd wanted to _leave._ It wasn't home, not to her _._ Not ever.

Her lips parted in surprise, her face flushed and her eyes wide. She began to shrink under everyone's expectant gazes. She resisted the urge to cradle her head in freezing shock as she attempted to wrap her head around this newfound revelation.

Annabeth cleared her throat instead. "Let's begin."

…

Annabeth slammed a dagger into the map. "Here!" she stressed, eyes blazing. The July sun had trapped warmth into the boardroom, and her forehead perspired. "You cannot deny it, my Queen. We'll be massacred otherwise," Annabeth pleaded.

Artemis watched, expressionless. "You believe in this?"

Annabeth didn't hesitate. Confidence was key to winning over the Queen's support in any situation. She had learned that early on. Perhaps that's why she was viewed on the same level as Reyna and Hylla to Artemis.

"Yes."

"You will back this plan even if it fails?" Artemis scrutinized her.

Percy was quiet, anticipating her answer just as much as anyone else in the room. They waited with bated breath.

"Yes."

Looking out at the sea of faces who watched her with hope and fear and everything in between, she felt like a failure already. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry to those of you who I'll never see again. Thank you for your trust in me. And I'm sorry I will let you down._

She couldn't fight the sinking feeling that she was making a mistake as she shouldered the new burdens. Her plan was not foolproof—no plan was—and with the numbers, theirs were sure to dwindle no matter how they approached. It was a sacrifice they _had_ to make to shake up these wars and tilt them to their side. Only now, the blood would be on her hands. Again.

It was a feeling she had never gotten used to, one she hoped she never would.

…

Annabeth woke with a start.

"Percy? Why aren't you sleeping?"

He glanced at her guiltily. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

It was true the lack of warmth had probably made her uncomfortable to rouse, but she did not say so. "You didn't," she lied. "Are you okay?" Annabeth reached out and grazed his shoulder with the palm of her hand. "We have a big day ahead. You really need the rest."

"I—I know. Just thinking," he amended, reluctantly crawling back under the covers at her prompt.

"Me too," she admitted.

He tucked a stray tendril of curly hair behind her ear, brushing his thumb across her face, and tracing her jawline with tender care. She drowsed off again, his soothing touch lulling her to sleep.

…

The next time she woke, Percy was already dressed.

Annabeth shot up in the bed, dread coiling at the pit of her stomach. "Is it time?"

"I waited the longest I could to wake you," Percy admitted. "I'm afraid it's still not enough sleep."

That was okay. Her dreams had been plagued with nightmares anyways, and it had been restless at best. Annabeth shimmied into her gear. Percy's hair was wet from a shower most likely, but she didn't have the time. The Princess hastily scrubbed her pearly whites, tying her hair out of her face. She splashed water onto her face, and winced at the rude awakening to her morning.

"What time is it?" she ventured delicately, drying off her face with her sleeve like a caveman.

"Three," Percy was curt. He was staring at his sword, and Annabeth tried to ignore the way he seemed so comfortable with it. It wasn't his fault he was accustomed to it.

She was reminded of a conversation from before she'd been in Octavian's hospital. He'd comedically told her about how he used to sleep with a sheathed dagger, flashing his grin at her. It'd been funny at the time. Now it felt like the dagger was stabbing her over and over and over again.

Little kids didn't sleep with weapons unless something was seriously wrong with the world around them.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out without any context.

Percy frowned at her, and Annabeth mentally cursed herself for her foolishness.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, trying to smooth out her awkward outburst.

"What for?"

"That you defended me, and now you're here, not up north, fighting a war that never should've been yours," she admitted. It was easier than confessing her shameful pity for him. There was no way in hell he'd take that lightly.

Percy looked at her oddly. "That's not your fault, and if I can do good here… then I don't regret it," he assured him.

He was just so wholly _good_ that she felt inferior in his presence, the evil half, the part eating away at his goodness, his humanity. He was much better than she deserved, and it was terrifying. _This_ was why Luke and her had gotten along so well. They were the inferior siblings together. Annabeth bit down on her lip, nervously.

"Okay," she breathed. "Thank you," she permitted.

Percy frowned. "Okay," he echoed. "Come," he swung open the cabin door, and sure enough, there were a few drowsy passerbys making their way to the center of the base to report for duty.

She stepped out into the dark of the early morning.

"Annabeth," he called out a second later, hesitating before shutting the front door. "I—" His mouth was slightly ajar, a thought lingering on the tip of his tongue.

"Yes?" She smiled up at him, but it was strained.

"Nevermind. Let's go." He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips that made her want to irrationally sob.

Annabeth trailed obediently after him, and together they boarded the jet. Thalia was already on board, and she barely nodded to Annabeth, wrapped up in her dark armor, a scowl on her face.

"I almost forgot," Percy remembered, helping her up before climbing aboard himself. "You had been sleeping when I remembered. Happy 18th Birthday," he wished her, smiling warmly.

Annabeth slumped against the back of the co-pilot's seat. Reyna would sit there later next to Percy, directing him, but for now she basked in his presence. He made _her_ want to be better.

Her chest tightened in knots at his casualness. He was the first person to wish her a happy birthday. Only a year back it would've been Malcolm, and though she was sure there would be a letter waiting for her up north after the attack, it was still a blatant reminder of how her role had shifted through the months, now a prominent figure of the biggest rebellion, and Percy had, as promised, stuck with her through it all. She hoped she would make it out to see the letter, to send one back saying thank you, saying she loved her brother. Consequently, her words got caught in her throat.

"You're finally an adult," Percy realized, unbothered by her lack of response, or at least, if he was, he didn't say so. "You might as well cherish this month while you can. In exactly one month and six days, I'll be moving in front of you again," he teased, but it was fatigued.

That was right. He would be nineteen. And then soon, he would be twenty. Then twenty-one. Then twenty-two.

Annabeth still felt like she was seventeen, stuck in a world apart from him, trapped in a cage she'd built for herself.

"Thanks," she managed, and this time Percy didn't say anything.

…

Smoke rose around her as the first shots were fired.

Annabeth's heart pounded fiercely, and she feared she was having a cardiac arrest. It had been so long since she'd been in Thasite, and even longer for Percy. She wondered if he was as afraid as she was. Surely not: he was also stronger than her, she acknowledged. She stared at the blazing inferno in front of her. Dimly, she wondered if she'd die without eyebrows.

And so the attack began. The smoke was choking up her lungs. Alarms were shrieking around her, Luke's guards alerted after a few indiscreet bombs went off. Leo would be dropping soldiers through battle on the jet.

A flashlight blinked once, twice, three times on a lower castle tower. On cue, the jet swooped by, dropping off soldiers. She couldn't decipher their faces from here, but Percy would be among them, fighting in the heart of the battle, storming the castle for captors, for royals to murder. She wondered if Percy missed this place.

"Chase!"

Annabeth glanced behind her. Against all advisement and Will's threats, Nico had decided to fight on the sides with her. She would do all she could to protect him, but Will wasn't here, caring for sick children and the elderly up north. She would make sure Nico came home to him if it was the last thing she ever did.

"Coming!" she hissed out, turning away from the action and spinning into the thick of the leaves. There, she began setting up the firework-bombs. Nico helped her, putting wires together as she barked out orders. She ran through the twilight, a flame in her hand as she efficiently lit them all on fire. Annabeth covered her mouth with the neckline of her chemise, keeping the smoke away, but her eyes still watered.

From anxious, stressed tears or the atmosphere, she honestly wasn't sure anymore.

…

Annabeth ducked, leaping out on the balcony of the castle tower. A guard closed in on her. She tried to remember Percy's training, but with her back pressed into the railing, her confidence was quickly waning.

All of a sudden, an arrow whizzed past her ear. A single strand of her hair fell to the ground, hardly noticeable. She gasped as the arrow buried itself in the guard's chest.

She spun to face the assassin, only to see Percy on a mini jet. He was balancing on piece between the red wing and the door. His foot scraped against the paint, nearly slipping, and Annabeth nearly screamed. She was relieved he was still okay, scraped up, but okay. There was a deep cut on his chest, bleeding through his shirt and jacket, but there were a few stray bandages to allieve the pressure. She could only guess Michael Yew had quickly solved his issue to get him out and about again.

"Do you trust me?" He outstretched his free hand, his expression nervous, but hopeful. Annabeth couldn't help it—she rolled her eyes.

"Gee, why wouldn't I trust the guy with a bloody sword in his other hand?" She wrinkled her nose in disdain, tilting her chin up. This time Percy rolled his eyes.

"Way to ruin the moment."

"I wasn't aware we were having a moment," she coolly retorted. Percy's boot skidded against the side, and her panic came back again. She couldn't do this.

"Just hurry up before I pick you up and throw you in the jet myself, like you're an errant toddler." He was oblivious to her inner turmoil.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Or a sack of flour."

Annabeth glared, about to let loose a few unkind remarks and stall the inevitable, terrible, life-plunging jump, ones sure to make the average boy go crying to his mommy, but before she could engage in some verbal joust, he'd already fulfilled his threat. True to his word, he scooped her up and not very gently plopped her on the shiny, blue seats.

"A very heavy sack of flour," he added, smirking. Annabeth smacked him, secretly relieved.

" _My hero,"_ she drawled, cross. She prayed her heart would calm down, and after ten minutes, it did, the near-death experience leaving her mind just as soon as it had come. She could only focus on what was to come from now on; the past did nothing but scare you.

…

They flew for some time, collecting their men and women. They had lost some, that was for sure, their numbers dwindling, and the guards just kept coming, but it had not been in vain, no.

Crumpled in the castle and on the ground were bodies, strewn carelessly. And they were rich blood.

Annabeth didn't ask Percy who he had killed, if he'd had to kill family, if he'd passed people he'd known. Those scars ran deep.

Annabeth scurried across the jet. "Artemis," she breathed, alerting Thalia who was babysitting the heat radar. "Let's get her and Hylla and Reyna out of each X," she pointed to the map she'd drawn back in the boardroom the night before, "and let's get the hell out of here. We've done what we came to do." _Kill some allies and create chaos._

Thalia paled as the ship drew nearer to the ground. Reyna scaled on, but this was not her base. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, and Annabeth gaped at the body in her hands. Piper shoved her way to the front, taking Annabeth's side. She paled the same.

Red coated Reyna's hands. It was fresh, still wet. The body laid limp in her arms, the black hair stick straight and sweaty. She had shut their eyes so you couldn't see the cold blue, and the gold bandana was no longer gold.

"Hera," Reyna sobbed. "She killed her."

Percy blinked, concealing his rage. Hera was his father's cousin.

"And Hylla ran off to kill her, but she's not thinking straight, and I don't know what to do, and—" Reyna broke off into weeping. Annabeth had never seen her cry before, and now Thalia was crying too, probably frightened at the General's reaction.

The entire jet, three-quarters of the way full fell silent as Reyna and Thalia grieved, grieving themselves. Some ducked their heads in respect, even Percy. Leo recharged the radar to hunt down Hylla, quiet as well.

The corpse was unmistakable, and the silence was unbearable.

At Reyna's feet laid none other than Artemis Olympus, Queen of the Amazons.

* * *

**Drew**

"Octavian's dead?" Her head snapped up to look at the man her parents had allied themselves with before their untimely deaths.

Luke sent shivers down her spine. He hadn't betrothed himself again after the whole shitshow, but something told her that if Aphrodite had still been there, she would've paired the two of them together without a second glance. Aphrodite's death was somewhat comforting, if only to avoid such a fatal mistake.

Cecily glanced at her from across the room. Bombs exploded outside, and Drew cringed at the sound, uneasy by Luke's lack of reaction.

"Indeed," was all Luke said.

"How?" Drew pursed her lips, secretly relieved. That man had been a bastard anyways.

"Do you really care?" Luke drawled, eyeing her coldly.

"No," she agreed, albeit reluctantly. Drew chewed her bottom lip, her fist tensing up as another stampede of guards rushed past the throne room. "What's the plan?" she finally caved, scrutinizing the Boy King.

"No plan," Luke countered.

Drew bit back a remark. Luke would not be as forgiving as Octavian, and certainly not a pushover. "That's impossible."

Luke was still. If it wasn't for his shallow breathing, she might've not even believed he was anything more than a statue. It was unsettling.

"They surprise-attacked us. How could I have planned?" he challenged. Luke rose to his feet slowly, lazily, and without having to demand anything of the others, everyone else at the table jumped to their feet, following his lead. "I have some business to take care of," he suddenly announced, and Drew's stomach twisted at the look in his icy blue eyes.

"Sir!" Cecily cried out from the opposite end of the table, and all Drew saw were the backs of the royals' heads as they stared at her for interrupting. "What should we do?"

Drew silently prayed for her girlfriend to shut the fuck up.

Luke shrugged. "Fight. Or don't. I have a handle on this," he was confident, which only made Drew feel worse. She hoped Annabeth knew what she was doing.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth didn't know what she was doing.

"The water rafts!" she remembered, but it was a stretch. Another bomb shattered the side of the plane. It was a small jet, suited for only 40 or passengers. It would not survive this attack. Luke had decided to fight back. The aircraft shuddered at the impact, and people were thrown everywhere. Annabeth's vice grip did not leave the side of the cockpit doors.

"Calbourne forces are too strong in the water," Percy shot down her idea immediately, shaking his head. "We have a better chance in a goddamn crash landing."

Rachel, who had a terrible fear of heights, was starting to look as green as her eyes. "We're going to crash?" Chaos erupted around them, pure panic filling up their comrades. Piper screamed as she fell back with the force.

Annabeth was beginning to lose her head here. Red lights flashed to check the engine, and Leo was losing control quickly, even as him and Percy tried to put their minds together and salvage what they could, or at least, lessen the adverse effects of the sure-to-be traumatic landing. She couldn't _think_ with the alarms blaring.

She gave the jet two more blows. Tensing up, she realized what had to happen. "Brace yourselves!" she commanded, running, sliding with the tilt of the plane, to the front of the aircraft. "Percy!" The casualties would be worse than she could've ever imagined possible.

If they hit the ground… there was no chance of survivors. There would be none to mourn them.

Annabeth's shoulder painfully slammed into stiff metal at another blow. And then all of a sudden, the floor was dropping under her.

Percy involuntarily crashed into her in an attempt to steady her. The aircraft lurched, nose-down, and Annabeth's wide eyes snapped to the gauge on the dashboard. The altitude numbers were dropping at a frightening rate. She scrambled backwards, pulling Percy with her against gravity, as all the Amazons and Canadians tried to make their way to higher ground, to the back of the plane where the impact could _maybe_ be a little less.

Annabeth squeezed her eyes shut. So this would be her end. Falling from the sky to be smashed down by the earth in a land she'd never loved. Fate was cruel.

She blinked up at Percy, who was hovering over her. His eyes were wide, but resigned, and she _hated_ it, hated how he was strong in the end when they were all going to _die._ She wished she could've pulled him towards him, kissed him, told him she loved him more than anything else in this world. Percy seemed to know what she was thinking. He forcefully tugged her forward as the air rushed around them. People were screaming, holding each other for dear life. She was enveloped in his comforting scent immediately. He smelled like the ocean, like always, like summer. Annabeth held him just as tight as he held her, praying he knew what she wished she could've said.

Time was not a force to be reckoned with, and even as her world went up in flames, she couldn't help but think she had not done enough, that it would never be enough.

He glanced up at her, and all thoughts flew out of her head. Just his look was enough. Without saying a word, he was accepting her apology and offering one of his own. The lights of the fires outside left her mind, and so did Thasite's castle's guards. Their approaching, dreadful fate was not on her radar anymore. All she saw was him. Even in the dark, his eyes seemed to glow.

When the plane screeched to a stop, out of nowhere, dangling midair, Annabeth let out a scream along with a few others. She blinked, careful not to rock the aircraft. No one moved, staring at each other in awe and fear. They were white as sheets, and some looked so sick, some were sobbing. With extreme trepidation, she carefully peered out the window. Annabeth was just able to make out the ground below them. They couldn't have been more than a couple tens of feet above the ground. _Hanging by thread, yet again._

She trembled against Percy. Somehow this felt worse than crashing to their deaths. Why had they stopped?

"Percy—"

"Don't move," he growled, and she looked up, following his line of vision.

Her answer came not even a minute later. The side of the aircraft was pried off by metal claws. Annabeth scrambled back with the rest of the crowd, but there was no escaping their fate. She nearly fell, unbalanced by all that had happened to her.

The sight was enough to make her want to crawl back into the death-trap of a flying machine and pitch herself off a cliff. _Oh, please just kill me. Have mercy._

Guards flooded around her, shooting rapidly. Two men hiding in the back fell dead, blood pooling around them like their own personal lakes.

Rachel threw up immediately, and there was mass panic as they screamed. Annabeth felt like her soul had exited her body, and she was watching this scene far-off wild mild, timid fascination. Her stun left her however, when a guard make a beeline for her.

Over half of them must have been dead by now. The ground was littered with bodies, gunshots still ringing. _They were searching,_ she realized. _For her._ She froze. _And who else? Percy, surely and Piper too. Nico, if they knew he was here._ Nico! Annabeth resisted the urge to whip her head around and make sure he wasn't dead. She prayed he would hide among the dead bodies, faking his death to live, but quickly changed her mind as guards shot already dead victims over and over and over again. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, horrified. These actions were too clean… too planned. There was only one man she knew who could remember the details like that. Her nightmare had finally come to life.

"Loose."

The voice felt like a lightning bolt. Annabeth threw off Percy's grip and vaulted to her feet, sprinting to the edge of jet. Before she could hit the side, the bars dropped, and her momentum carried her too far. Annabeth stumbled, hitting the half-frozen grass, skidding on her knees. Someone kicked her in the face, sending her sprawling in the mud. Annabeth shot a loose dagger from her belt in the direction, but her attacker was too fast. The guard's knee hit her back, pinning her so forcefully he knocked the air from her lungs. Fingers closed around her throat.

Annabeth clawed at his grip, digging in her fingernails, but it seemed to have no effect. He lifted her without any effort at all, forcing her to scramble on her toes to keep from strangling herself. She tried to scream, but it was useless. Panic knifed through Annabeth, and her eyes widened, searching for a way out of this, ever the nimble fighter.

Instead, she saw only her friends, still confined in the cage the guards had built on instruction. They pulled at the bars in vain.

Through a bruising eye, Annabeth watched metallic snakes lock around Percy, Nico, Piper, and the others, binding their wrists, and ankles, and necks. Even Reyna, strong as iron, had no defense against the rods. Thalia fought as best as she could, silencing one guard after another. But there were too many. When one fell, another took its place. Only Percy could truly resist, smashing down every bar that came close. But he had just fallen out of the sky. He was disoriented at best and bleeding from a cut above the eye.

One bar cracked him across the back of the head, knocking him out cold. His eyelids fluttered, and Annabeth willed him to wake. Instead, the silver wrapped around him, guards tightening him with every passing second. The one at his throat was worst of all, dipping in deep, enough to strangle.

"Stop!" Annabeth choked out, turning toward the voice. Now she fought with her own meager muscles, trying to break the guards' grips the old-fashioned way. Nothing could've been more fruitless. "Stop!"

"You are in no position to bargain, Annabeth."

Luke was coy keeping to the darkness, to his shadows. She watched his silhouette approach, noting the spiky crown on his head. When he stepped into the starlight, Annabeth felt a brief twinge of satisfaction. His face did not match his confident drawl. There were bruise-like circles beneath his eyes, and a sheen of sweat that coated his forehead. His mother's death has taken its toll.

"I have a trade for you!" she desperately cried out, albeit choked and coughing.

The hands around Annabeth's throat loosened a little, allowing her to speak.

The bars around Percy's wrists reddened, glowing with heat. She wished she could tell him to

lie still, to let her do what she had to do. To let her save him as he saved her so many times.

"Let him go. Let them all go!" she pleaded.

Luke stared her down. It was _terrifying_ , and she could feel herself going numb at the expression on his face. She hadn't seen him in so long, and she couldn't fathom it anymore. _This_ was the boy who betrayed her, and _this_ was the boy whose mother she'd sent into the ground, but not before parading her body around to initiate the next civil war. She had never known fear until that very moment, not truly.

"I don't think you understand what a trade is, Annabeth," Luke scoffed. "You have to _give_ something too," he patronized.

At Percy's side, Piper stilled. She knew Annabeth better than most and understood the blonde's expression plainly. Slowly, Piper's jaw tightened, and she shook his head from side to side.

Annabeth didn't look at Piper. This was the only way. She had wracked her brain, and she would not make it home in any situation. At least this way, everyone else would be safe. She could hear the passed Queen's voice in her head from the boardroom meeting. " _You believe in this?" Artemis inquired, her face expressionless. "Yes," Annabeth confessed._ " _You will back this plan even if it fails?" Artemis scrutinized her._

Annabeth was empty of tears, small at Luke's feet, forced to her knees. She could hear her own voice in her head, quavering, but sure. " _Yes."_ Annabeth licked her lips, suddenly feeling parched, but Luke just watched her expectantly.

"I will surrender," Annabeth breathed, and it felt like she was locking herself up for good. "I will return. I'll be your prisoner." She looked down, unable to see his face, unable to look at her friends being tortured by Luke and his men. She felt Luke's cold gaze on her, and everything in her tensed.

Off to the side, she heard Percy's sharp intake of breath. Or perhaps he was simply gasping for air. Looking down felt like bowing, like giving up. But this was her death sentence, and it was her only bargain. She was their sole leverage, their only hope of survival. In this twisted way, Annabeth prayed she had finally given enough. That, for all the sacrifices others had made for her, sacrifices that made her heart twist like it was being stabbed, she had finally given up her own price for this cause, she had finally proved her worth, her loyalty.

" _I see a gilded cage for one_." Tiresias' words echoed in her head. How foolish she had been to believe Octavian's greed was her punishment. But Tiresias had been wrong. This was a cage for two, and she wasn't sure if she was more afraid to be locked in the cage Luke had built for them both, or outside, where the public's eye kept her pinned down.

Despite the sharp, painful pounding in her head, at the same time, Annabeth felt sick and twisted relief. So many sacrifices had been made for her, for her choices. It was only fair that she took her turn and accepted the punishment fate had in store.

Annabeth swallowed hard, and it felt like she was trying to swallow a stone or a scratchy board of wood.

As strange as it was, the only thing flitting in her mind was an image of her older brother, of Malcolm, proud and brave. To everyone else, he was this King, this beloved Prince, this figure that was just out of reach, like a God. But to her, he was just her older brother who loved her unconditionally and looked out for her even when she felt as though she didn't deserve his affection. He was too good, too good for someone like her.

She wondered mildly if this was how he always felt: worried, anxious, protective, responsible. She'd never had a younger sibling, someone to watch out for. She was the baby of the family, the apple of the kingdom's eyes. But then and there, her throat dry, a guard's double-wicked blade pressed to Nico neck, she knew her decision had already been made for her the day she was born.

House Pevanshire were good and faithful people. Bianca had been a loving older sister when she was alive and knowing what she knew of Malcolm, of older siblings, she knew the hell they went through for their little siblings. Nico had been her sole purpose every day, her only reason to fight. House Pevanshire had been nothing but faithful to House Ashington and though Nico was a little shy, reserved even, she refused to let him die so easily. He was younger than her by a year, just a boy, and it didn't matter if she was herself just a girl. She wasn't even considering any other option; there was no other choice.

Nico's dark eyes were wide, but serious. He was silently imploring her to turn away, to let him die, for the good of the country, to let them all burn up in flames _together_. But she couldn't look away, quietly horrified. She owed it to Bianca, to all those she'd let die, no—to all those she'd inadvertently _killed._ She could not let a revolution fall for her freedom. No—freedom would be a small price to pay.

Luke's face remained impassive, but now, after all they'd been through, she could read him easily, and he, her.

Annabeth supposed they were the only two who could truly see each other for what they were: monsters, both of them. He wanted this more than anything else, she knew.

Then Luke's hand was warm beneath her chin, burning with a sickly heat. Daring to touch her was a stark message. He did not fear the warrior girl, or at least he wanted to seem that way, but if he had come out of his castle to seize her herself, then it revealed the truth. To some extent, at least, Luke feared her, little Annie who had taken the world by storm.

He forced her to look at him, and she saw nothing of the boy he once was.

There was only darkness.

"Annabeth, no! Don't be an idiot!" She barely heard Piper, pleading now. There was a dull buzzing in her head and it was driving her wild.

All of a sudden, she could see Tiresias in her mind, the memory vivid like it was just yesterday that she had been in the hospital, unchaining the milky-eyed man. Ironic, considering she had found her own cuffs.

" _Attend to your own fate, Annabeth Chase," Tiresias warned._

She could practically hear her voice wavering in response: " _And that is?"_ Annabeth's eyes closed for a moment. All of a sudden, she understood, and she had never wished before in her life not to understand until then.

His answer haunted her even now. " _To rise. And rise alone."_

The blonde's eyes fluttered open, and she shot her gaze up at Luke, her face expressionless. Luke read her well, searching for a lie that didn't exist.

Despite his posturing, she realized that he was afraid of what she'd done, of the Amazon Princess' words, and the effect they had. He had come here to kill her, to put her in the ground. But he had found a greater prize. And she'd given it to him willingly. He was a betrayer by nature, but this was a bargain he wanted to uphold. Annabeth saw it in his eyes; she had heard it in his empty promises; she had felt it in his kiss. He wanted her more than any other blood, and he would do anything to hold her leash again.

" _I am a man of my word,"_ Luke had vowed not long ago in one of his many notes, his voice chilling her beneath her skin even though parchment. She pondered over his words, only then realizing how true they were.

He'd promised to win this whole thing—and here he was, the Boy King; he'd promised that he would no longer be a shadow—and here he was, the flame of House Calbourne, everyone's eyes on him and only ever on him; finally, he'd promised that this wasn't the end, that he would track her down, that he wasn't finished with her quite yet. And here she was, begging him to spare Nico's life, to spare them all, willing to submit herself to him for the sake of others.

And then she thought of his lies. Her face felt warm, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. He'd never explicitly said he would spare her, that he loved her, that he was with her always. What a fool she'd been. All the blood drained from her face.

Luke, she realized, always chose his words carefully, ever the tactful strategist. He only shared what would help his cause, effectively manipulating everyone around him. And she too, she'd fallen victim to his charm like the rest. Whatever she felt for him, she imagined it was infinitely worse for Percy, for his half-brother in blood and nothing else.

Piper strained against her restraints, but it was no use at all. "Don't let her!" Piper yelled behind her, but Annabeth didn't dare look at her. "Percy, do something!" She wanted her to be remembered as strong, in control, standing on her feet and braving the worst of the storms. Not like this.

"Do we have a deal?" Annabeth was reduced to a beggar, pleading with Luke to put her back in his cage. Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears. "Are you a man of your word?"

Above her, Luke smiled as she quoted him. His teeth gleamed.

The others were shouting, shaking in their bonds. She heard none of it. Her mind had closed to all but the trade she was ready to make.

Luke's hand moved from her chin to her throat. His grip tightened. Softer than his men, his invincible soldiers, but so much more painful.

"We have a deal."

…

Annabeth wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that the silence was deafening. Days, months, she couldn't be sure of anything anymore, only that her heart was still beating, and she wished it wouldn't.

She allowed her personal guards to drag her by her cuffed arms and legs, leading her outside onto the stage. Angry royals and Thasite-goers jeered, but all she could see was Luke.

She hadn't seen him since that day, since she'd begged him to free her comrades, to free Nico, and Percy, and Piper, and Reyna, and Thalia, and Rachel, and Leo, and everyone. He had sent her off with his guards to her personal hell, and that had been that.

Now the blonde stared at the spot near his feet and she slumped with understanding. This was her own doing. She had once again walked into his cage willingly. His expression was stony, a deadly calm, masking his fury. Annabeth had lost her fight the moment they'd sealed her deal, the second he'd locked her in a prison—a prison of words and promises. Her pride had always been her greatest flaw, but in front of him like some sort of lapdog, wrapped with his leash and chains, even her pride had crumbled and sank below sea level.

Something gleamed in his hands, and her stomach sunk. This is where he would kill her, a dagger to the heart, a public execution.

When she stepped closer, however, she realized it was something else entirely, something much more humiliating: a collar. He certainly knew how to hit her where it hurt.

Luke sealed her fate with a soft click, his expression concealed anger.

"You paraded my mother's body," he whispered in her ear, his voice chilling. "And now I will do the same to you."

Cages kept monsters out, but they trapped monsters in as well. She had long forgotten, perhaps naively, what it meant to belong entirely to someone else. A royal was public property; private property was another feat altogether.

His finger pointed at the ground, and it was white, paler than Annabeth remembered. Bowing her head, Annabeth dared not look him in the eye; his message was clear as day.

She knelt.


	27. King's Cage

**Annabeth**

_Long live the King! Long live the King!_

Annabeth felt sick to her stomach, watching as they cheered at hollered for the Boy King, proudly chanting his name over and over and over again. Every time their lips uttered his name, it felt like a stab in the gut. He had all of Thasite wrapped around his finger, in control as he'd always promised to be.

 _LUKE_ … _he betrayed you._

_LUKE… you loved him._

_LUKE… how could he?_

_LUKE… he knew what he was and worse, he liked it._

_LUKE… you thought you had played him, thought you had played both the Princes carefully. You're a fool. It was you who was played all along, played like a harp in a heaven that didn't exist._

Involuntary tears pricked at her eyes. Her stomach unfurled in her abdomen and she thought she was going to throw up. Annabeth shivered miserably. She could still feel his words, cold and calculated, and his eyes on her, an icy blue. And his touch, a touch she had once welcomed, only repulsed her now.

She had brought this upon herself. Apparently he was right: she was just a stupid, little girl, way in over her head like usual. Annabeth leaned over and dry heaved, pain lancing through her chest. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Loved me with your worst intentions. And I didn't even question it._

She gagged again, and nothing but spit came out. Her eyes stung with humiliation. Every time he had burned her down, for a moment it had felt like heaven. Her greed was her downfall, and this was her punishment.

…

Annabeth stood in front of the cell, her feet cold, feeling unsure.

She hadn't seen Luke since that day, since he'd put a collar around her neck and put her up for show, and once he'd humiliated her, he had left her alone. She wasn't sure whether to take solace in his absence or fear it. She had been thrown into a standard cell with two guards, but it was different now. Now, he must have ordered her to be moved because her guards stood behind her, shoving her into the new locked cage.

This one was bigger and open. It was the size of a small bedroom, taking up three-quarters of the room, with tall bars surrounding the cage. The cage was pushed up against the far corner of the room across from the white door.

Inside, there was a bed with clean white sheets, made neatly. It was also pushed into the corner, and the comforter was littered with pillows of different shapes and sizes. Next to the bed was a small table made of dark wood, topped with a teardrop lamp. On the opposite side was a small fountain, lit up with gentle lights, attached to the wall with blue, and green, and white stones neatly arranged at the bottom, and a polished marble spout shaped like a mermaid. It was beautiful in a way, despite Annabeth's irrational fear of all things water, including the fountain. There was a flat white rug on the ground to keep the cold of the stone floor from seeping in.

Perhaps most notably, on the opposite wall of the bed, there was a bookshelf, tall and dark, filled with shelves upon shelves of books, more than she could ever hope for. Even she didn't recognize every title, Annabeth who locked herself away in her library willingly back in Epresh, except for a few, beloved classics. Finally, most surprising of all, was the window.

It was small and dirty, like it hadn't been cleaned in a decade, and she could barely fit her head in it if she tried, but outside she could see the green grass and tall, willowy trees of one of the Thasite castle's many gardens. Outside, there was a pond and another fountain, and it was quiet save for the trickling stream of clear water.

Annabeth spun around to face the part they had led her through, only to find it locked. It was a beautiful cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless.

In front of the iron door, one of her guards stood, and the other had seated himself comfortably on another end. She would be watched like a hawk, she was sure.

The dread bubbling in her chest only heightened as the days passed, weeks—she wasn't sure—and no Luke came. No, he had left entirely alone in this prison. And why had he given her such a beautiful place? The manacles on her wrist were no different than anyone else's. It was concerning and worrisome, and so Annabeth began to read, finding consolation in words as she always had.

She devoured book after book, and after she finished a dozen or so, her guards would replace them. It was frustrating; _this_ was frustrating. The blonde fought the urge to rip her hair out. She would never finish them all, she would be locked here forever… her lungs fought to get in air. Nothing happened in the pavilion outside her window, but she was still grateful to see the summer outside.

Annabeth tried to talk to her guards. They promptly ignored her, never touching her, never talking to her, never even looking in her direction. It was like she was… invisible. Here in this cage, they would forget about her. The Amazons would forget and the Canadians too, the people would forget, her friends would forget, _she_ would forget. She had never felt smaller than she did then. Her plans to take the world by storm had been foiled and all by the Boy King.

The stack of books were overwhelming, yes, but equally confounding. There were fairy tales, textbooks, fiction, nonfiction, scraps of loose-leaf paper with anonymous poetry she had never seen before. None of the titles seemed to have any correlation to each other.

Annabeth gingerly set down the thick, leather-bound book, finished with it. Luke had purposefully left her that one, she could only assume. It was the history of Epresh, and there were pictures of her grandparents and parents and brother and even herself, but as a child. In the margins were scrawled lines of handwriting, a font too familiar for her to ever forget. _Chiron._ The dear words and thoughts of her favorite instructor were as vivid as she remembered, and she found herself rereading it time and time again, finding comfort in the old man's words.

"Please don't take that one," Annabeth found her voice. It was scratchy with low use.

The guard peered at her through dark eyelashes. His face did not change. Reluctantly, he let go of the book she had stopped him from exchanging. She hugged it tightly to her chest, her breath coming short with fear they would take it from her. It was probably her favorite one.

Annabeth, curled tightly into a ball, clicked on the lamp, flipping to the front cover to read it again as darkness flooded her window, the sun going to bed. Exhausted, she fell asleep, Chiron's words entering her dreams.

* * *

**Piper**

"We have to!" the brunette demanded, looking between Reyna and Hylla. They had yet to choose a new Queen. Hylla would probably take Artemis' place, but it still seemed odd, as if she didn't want the title. Perhaps Reyna would rise to the challenge.

"We've lost too many." Reyna pinched the bridge of her nose, the exhaustion catching up with her. She wasn't the only one.

Piper scanned the faces of these people she'd known for such a short amount of time. She paused on Percy. His complexion was pale, a streak of grey even coloring his hair. He was _eighteen._ Now he sat quietly.

"But she's worth everything," Piper insisted. "Annabeth is the _face_ of the Amazons and Canadians. The public _knows_ her, they trust her, they love her. They will walk through fire if she asks them to. She's our key to success."

"I refuse to do any more raids. Our numbers have dwindled!" Reyna snapped, glaring at Piper.

Piper's fists balled up at her sides. Nico watched her curiously out of the corner of his eye. He was perched on an unstable table, lithe and lean. He was twisting the skull ring around his finger like he did when he was thinking.

"And they will continue to fall unless we induct more people!"

Thalia put her head down on the table, but Piper could see she was listening.

"I'll do it."

All heads turned to face Hylla. Reyna's expression hardened. "No, you won't. You're in line for Queen. We _need_ you."

Hylla shook her head. "I don't fucking want the position. I've already told you."

Reyna sucked in a breath in exasperation. "So who will take Artemis' place? We need a leader. We need organization. This isn't working." She gestured between Piper and herself, hinting at the excessive arguing. That much was true. They had all been arguing a lot more lately, on edge.

"Democracy works for the Canadians," Nico suggested from his corner.

"I think it's a bad idea. The Amazons will riot," Reyna gently denied. "The Amazons have been run like this for decades. If we change it now, we may lose more members. I don't have the power to keep them here." She inspected her sister's face carefully. "And I don't want the position either," she voiced for the first time.

At that, Piper let out an involuntary gasp. If not Hylla, if not Reyna, then who?

Hylla frowned at her sister.

"It will always belong to Artemis, our sister in all but blood," Reyna whispered, answering the unspoken question. Piper felt a pang of sympathy for the Ramirez sisters. They had known the Queen before she had grown reckless, before she had made poor decisions, when she had been as young as they were now. She had grown stubborn, but Piper had no doubt she had been a powerful force when she was younger and fresh-faced, before the harsh realities of being a leader had settled onto her shoulders.

"Thalia?" Reyna prompted, turning to her Lieutenant. "It's yours if you want it."

Thalia's head stayed in her arms. "No," came her muffled voice. She sat up, her expression tired. "I am your lieutenant, _always_ ," she fiercely proclaimed, gazing up at Reyna. "Where you go, I go."

The lump in Piper's throat returned at Thalia's vulnerability.

Thalia looked to Piper, and Piper felt her blood freeze. _No._

"We cannot have a man on the chair." Thalia pursed her lips. "That much is obvious."

Nico bobbed his head from across the room. Percy's chair creaked as he shifted positions.

Thalia's piercing blue eyes landed on Piper's smaller frame. _She's out of her mind._ "Panflute."

Piper's heart felt like it would stop at any moment.

"Artemis always liked you."

Hylla scrutinized her along with Reyna and everyone else. Piper tried her best not to shrink under their stiff expressions. "A royal?" Hylla openly expressed her concern.

"Everyone knows Artemis adored her. She's the first to be handpicked by the Queen," Thalia interrupted, eyeing her carefully. "Everyone has your respect, McLean." It was perhaps the first time Thalia had _actually_ called her by name. "If you take Queen, I will fully support you. Artemis saw something in you that day. None of us can express her sentiments exactly—those thoughts will course through the rivers with her—but I… I trust her judgement. If she sees you worthy, then I do too."

Piper's heart squeezed in her chest. "Thalia…" she trailed off, glancing desperately to Reyna to shut up the Lieutenant.

Reyna didn't move an inch. "She's not wrong."

"Reyna!" Piper was appalled. "You can't be serious," she pleaded. She looked from eye to eye, but Hylla, Reyna, and Thalia all seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion. "You all knew Artemis much better than me. You have been part of this since you were _children._ This is not my place, nor my honor, nor my burden. Don't give me a crown again. Please. I was lucky to dodge one in royalty."

Reyna blinked. "If you do not want it, we cannot force you. A Queen must pick the position herself or be appointed by a retiring Queen or voted to be changed or defeat the ex-ruler. But we all will serve you, Raya," Reyna affirmed.

"I…"

She glanced at Percy, who she had known since birth. His eyes were dark, unforgiving and unyielding. He tilted his head to one side, as if nudging her forward.

Piper's breath caught in her chest. "I don't know if I can handle the blood on my hands."

"My dear, you've already assassinated a Queen. Medusa is _dead_ because of you," Thalia echoed.

Piper would never forget what it felt like to stab her and see the cruel light die in her eyes.

"So?" Hylla watched her carefully. Gwen was quiet, a newfound respect in her gaze.

Piper prayed she was making the right choice. "Yes."

The word was heavier than she expected. It felt life-altering, which it was, the weight of the crown catching up with her. Annabeth was their mascot, their lead strategist, Reyna and Hylla were Generals, Thalia and Gwen were great Lieutenants—they had all found their place and were content. Was this her destiny? If the people in the Heavens were real, were they smiling down at her, or did they know the series of challenges coming would crush her? She didn't even know if she was cut out for this. _Only way to find out._ She was reminded of her sister Drew. She had always sought greatness and was on a path to achieving it. Perhaps this was her road. Perhaps her choices had led to this moment, out of the shadows and in the spotlight. She would be different, _better,_ cleaner, meticulous, and with Annabeth by her side if they ever got her back, they would be unstoppable.

"I pledge thyself to you, Piper McLean Raya, Queen of the Amazons."

Thalia ducked her head, taking a knee. Reyna and Hylla and Gwen followed in suit, lining up next to her, their hair falling into their heads.

Piper flexed her fingers, the gold bandana around her wrist feeling more lethal than it had five seconds ago.

"I pledge thyself," a chorus echoed around her as all witnesses began to kneel. Her veins thrummed with electricity.

"May you reign with justice and goodness and light, and may the prowess of our late Queens bless you," Hylla whispered, her eyes averted to the ground. Her dagger was pointed to the ground too, loose in her hand, and Reyna's hand was balled into a fist, pressed against her heart. Gwen lowered her shield to the floor, exposing her heart to her. Even Percy and Nico, both of whom had never dared bow to a Queen when they were Kings, when they were not true Amazons only brought her by their mutual friend, Annabeth, tilted their heads downward after sharing an expression of understanding.

"Ascend," Reyna promised, gazing up at Piper hopefully. It was a face Piper had not seen in so long. Everyone knew the words, and when they chanted together, Piper, standing in the heart of her newfound sisters and brothers, felt the true power of this rebellion that had been born on ash and dust. The bandanas gleamed from various positions around her, the light reflecting it just right.

Their voices rang through the air, hitting her ear from every aspect of the circle. "For gold and glory!"

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth found herself naming the guards herself when they wouldn't answer her questions. _That one_ , she decided, peering at the girl with white, artificial hair, _I'll call her Kitten._ The guard tended to have stray hairs on her, hairs that could not be human, and Annabeth deduced that she probably had a pet. She glanced at the man next. He was the one with dark eyes and a cold, unwelcoming face. His hair was a deep brown, one to rival Piper's (though Annabeth found herself struggling to remember what Piper looked like exactly as the days passed), and it fell into his face, irritating the blonde to no extent. _I'll call him Twig,_ she decided, bemused by the nickname. Twig was far from it with thick muscles the width of his neck, but twigs were brown, and she found it fitting in an ironic sense.

With loneliness came frustration, and when the guards wouldn't speak, and the books kept coming, she found herself growing angrier by the moment.

Annabeth _needed_ human interaction, she craved it, and she didn't care what she'd have to do to get it. It had been too long since Luke had locked her up—she had begun tallying the days with a sharp pen into the cement walls—and too long without his face. No, it was time for some answers, she internally acknowledged.

She stared down at the untouched food slid from under the caged door. There was sugary oatmeal, some fruit that changed each day, and dry toast. Locked in here, she found it most unappetizing, and more importantly, she found it to be a sign of weakness to eat this food. It would be admitting she depended on the Boy King. She only caved once in a while, scarfing it down without tasting it when her stomach hurt too much, but now she didn't do so.

The quiet ate away at her.

Kitten sneered at the food before returning to her chair. Twig occupied the other one, leaning back against the cage without another care.

Kitten stared at Annabeth's torso, probably noticing how skinny she was. As always, she didn't say anything.

Annabeth felt like she was choking when they looked at her, the knowledge that they held her freedom in the palm of their hands, crushing her. She hated it. She. Hated. It.

Annabeth threw her water glass against the opposite wall, letting it splattered and splinter against the horrible grey paint. Neither of her guards flinched. She did this a lot.

And it helped. For a minute. Maybe.

Annabeth followed the usual schedule, the one she had developed over the last month of captivity. Wake up. Immediately regret it. Receive breakfast. Lose appetite. Have food taken away. Immediately regret it. Throw water. Immediately regret it. Strip bed linens. Maybe rip up the sheets, sometimes while shouting. Immediately regret it. Attempt to read a book. Stare out window. Stare out window. Stare out window. Receive lunch. Repeat.

She was a very busy girl.

Or she guessed she should've said woman.

Eighteen was the arbitrary divide between child and adult, and she turned eighteen weeks ago. July 12th, the day of the quest that had left her where she was now. Now that anyone besides Percy and Malcolm knew or noticed. She highly doubted Kitten or Twig cared or noticed that their charge was another year older. Only one person in the prison palace would, and after taking her freedom from her in the trade, he did not visit, much to her relief. It was the single blessing in her captivity. While she was held here, surrounded by the worst people she'd ever know, she didn't have to suffer his presence.

Until today.

The utter silence around her shattered with the faintest click. The familiar turn of the door lock. Off schedule, without warrant. Annabeth's head snapped to the sound, as did her guards', their concentrating breaking in surprise. Adrenaline bled into her veins, driven by her suddenly thrumming heart. In a split second, she dared to hope again. She dreamed of who could be on the other side of the door.

Her brother. Reyna. Thalia.

Percy.

She wanted it to be Percy. She wanted his rage to consume the place and all the people whole.

But the man standing on the other side was no one she recognized. Only his clothes were familiar—blue uniform, white detailing. A security officer, nameless and unimportant. He stepped into her prison, holding the door open with his back.

Annabeth's guard jumped to their feet, just as surprised as she was.

"What are you doing?" Twig sneered. It was the first time she'd ever heard his voice.

Kitten did as she was trained to do, stepping between the blonde and the officer. Another burst of silence knocked into Annabeth, fed by Kitten's fear and confusion. It crashed like a wave, eating at the little bits of strength she still had left. She stayed rooted in her chair, loath to fall down in front of other people.

The security officer said nothing, staring at the floor. Waiting.

She entered in reply, draped in a gown made of intricate dark green silk and detailed lacing around the square neckline. Her raven hair was swept up in a meticulous swirl atop her head, combed and braided with gems in the fashion of a crown she hungered to wear. A jade snake curled around her neck with matching long, thin lines of stacked jade teardrop earrings, and Annabeth recognized Chinese characters engraved with delicate gold lettering. Her eyelashes were darkened and carefully separated, and they looked sharp and precise like spider legs. A metallic green curved along her eyelids, bringing her natural chocolate orbs to prominence.

Annabeth shuddered at the sight of her, perfect and cold and sharp, a Queen in bearing if not yet title. Because she was still not a Queen. Annabeth could tell.

"Drew," she murmured, trying to hide the tremors in her voice, both from fear and disuse. Drew's black eyes passed over her with all the tenderness of a cracking whip. Head to toe and back again, noting every imperfection, every weakness. Annabeth knew there were many. Finally her gaze landed on her collar, taking in the pointed metal edges. Her lip curled in disgust, and also hunger. How easy it would've been for her to squeeze, to drive the points of the collar into her throat and bleed Annabeth bone-dry.

"Lady Raya, you are not permitted to be here," Kitten said, still standing between them. Annabeth was surprised by her boldness, but not for long. _She feared Luke a whole lot more than a thirsty Queen-to-be._ Annabeth could relate.

Drew's eyes flickered to her guard, her sneer spreading. "You think I would disobey the King, my late mother's pride and solid ally?" She forced a cold laugh. "I am here on his orders. He commands the presence of the prisoner at court. Now."

Each word stung. A month of imprisonment suddenly seemed far too short. Part of Annabeth wanted to grab on to the table and force Drew to drag her out of her cage. But even isolation had not broken her pride. Not yet.

 _Not ever,_ she reminded herself. So she stood on weak limbs, joints aching, hands quivering. A month ago she had attacked guards with little more than her teeth. She tried to summon as much of that fire as she could, if only to stand up straight.

Kitten kept her ground, unmoving. Her head tipped to Twig, locking eyes with her who Annabeth had deduced a long time back was her cousin. "We had no word. This is not protocol."

Again Drew laughed, showing white, gleaming teeth. Her smile was beautiful and violent as a blade. "Are you refusing me, Guard Haven?"

 _Haven_. Annabeth processed the new information. She recognized the name, only a distant relative of the Calbournes. _So that's why they're doing Luke's bitch work._ That and they were just as scared as the rest of the world. And they had every right to be. Her eyes snapped back to Drew and the scene unfolding in front of her.

As Drew spoke, her hands wandered to her dress, running perfect light gold skin through the forest of fabric. Her painted nails carefully caressed her trusty butterfly blades. She palmed the slivers of metal, patient, waiting, one eyebrow raised. The guards knew better than to extend their crushing silence to a Raya daughter, let alone a future Queen.

The pair of them exchanged wordless glances, clearly coming down on either side of Evangeline's question. Twig furrowed his brow, glaring, and finally Kitten sighed aloud. She stepped away. She backed down.

"A choice I'll not forget," Drew murmured, relinquishing her blades.

Annabeth felt exposed before her, alone in front of her piercing eyes despite the other guards and officers Drew had brought with her looking on. Drew knew her, knew what she was, what she could do. And Drew was clever if she was still here, if Luke had deemed her worthy of her life even after both her parents were dead. Drew showed no signs of grief, untouched by pain, unlike Luke, who Annabeth _had_ seen with dark circles under his eyes. In some ways, it frightened Annabeth more than it should've.

Deliberate, Annabeth took a step forward. Toward her. Toward the blissful emptiness that surrounded her. Another step. Into the free air.

But her sneer bled into a smile. Drew matched Annabeth's pace, moving back, and Annabeth almost snarled. "Not so fast, Chase."

It was the first time she'd ever said her real name.

Drew snapped her fingers, pointing at Kitten. "Bring her along."

…

They dragged Annabeth the way they had done the first time—by her collar and recklessly. This time she didn't put up a fight. Kitten was standing close to her anyways.

Drew said nothing the entire way there, only setting the pace. Annabeth could hear faint clicking every time she walked, and she had no doubt that under the large, full skirt, she was wearing heels. Knowing Drew, there were probably blades concealed in the bottom and in her dress. She knew firsthand from fighting, and losing, against her in the arena that Drew had a habit of hiding weapons in her earrings and her bracelets doubling as metal whips that could be set afire.

Annabeth swallowed at the reminder, her cheek stinging involuntarily at the memory of Drew slicing her to ribbons.

They led her up a series of white marble staircases that Annabeth had only seen once or twice. She recognized this corridor, though, and she knew it led to the large dining room the Calbournes used to entertain their guests. Or enemies.

They passed a block of windows on a landing, looking west across the barracks to the main river and the other half of the city beyond it. It seemed eerily familiar, and then Annabeth remembered that she knew this view. She had stood in front of windows like those with Percy. She had lied to him, knowing an attack would come that night. But she hadn't known what it would do to either of them. Percy had whispered then that he wished things were different. Annabeth shared the lament.

Music echoed from somewhere. It pulsed like a swollen and heavy heart. Annabeth had never heard such music before, not even at the balls she'd attended through the years. It had a life of its own, something dark and twisting and oddly inviting. Ahead of her, Drew's shoulders stiffened at the sound.

Drew didn't turn right, as Annabeth expected, to enter the throne room through the grand, arching doors. Instead, she surged forward, all of them in tow, pushing into another room Annabeth knew all too well.

The council chamber. A perfect circle of marble and polished, gleaming wood. Seats rung the walls, and the seal of Thasite, the Tsunami Crown, dominated the ornate floor. Blue and white and black, with points of bursting cold water. Annabeth almost stumbled at the sight of it, and she had to shut her eyes. Kitten would pull her through the room, she had no doubt of that. Annabeth would gladly let her drag her if it meant she didn't have to see any more of this place.

An Amazon died here, she remembered. Her face flashed behind Annabeth's eyelids. She was hunted down like a rabbit. And it was wolves that caught her—Drew, Malcolm, Percy. They captured her in the tunnels beneath, following her orders from the Amazons. They found her, dragged her here, and presented her to Queen Medusa for interrogation. It never got that far. Because she killed herself. She swallowed a murderous pill in front of them all to protect the secrets of the Amazons. To protect Annabeth.

When the music tripled in volume, the ex-Princess opened her eyes again.

The council chamber was gone, but the sight before her was somehow worse.

* * *

**Nico**

"You're never going anywhere again."

Nico rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation.

"You're being unreasonable, Will."

"I'm not," the blond insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. Nico was mildly reminded of Persephone. Will was such a mom. A nagging one, at that, but Nico could't find it in him to smile. Will's demeanor shifted, turning into something much softer.

"She looked at me," Nico mumbled, and Will put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. "She looked at me before she asked him to lock her up. And I know her," Nico admitted. "She must have been thinking of my sister." He closed his eyes for a brief moment. "She felt guilty, and so she signed herself up for a death wish. I _told_ her. I looked her in the eye, and I shook my head." The memory was as vivid as real life. "I _told_ her not to do it. And now she's gone."

Nico exhaled harshly. He could not help but blame himself for her absence. He saw the aftermath on Percy's face every single day. He, like Piper, seemed to simply go through the motions, two zombies walking. At least Piper was a little better. She had a group of people to lead.

Percy simply sat at the side, easily excelling in all categories. Amazons needed someone to fish? There was no one more skilled than the boy born and brought up by the sea. The Canadians needed someone to move the heavy boulders to create more weapons? Percy devised an easy lever to move it. Nico was reminded of Archimedes: _give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world._ He was ingenious, taking Annabeth's place in strategy headquarters. Some of his strategies were clean enough to rival even those of Annabeth's, but he didn't seem to care, a shell of a man.

The emotion Percy ever showed was anger, something even Nico hated to behold.

Will snapped him out of his reverie. "It's not your fault." It felt like a mantra, something Will would say on repeat like a broken record, false words to assure him of past mistakes.

"I'm going to visit Percy," Nico said instead, choosing to momentarily ignore Will's comfort.

Will drew away, but he wasn't hurt. Over the time they had begun to know each other, Will had learned that Nico just needed space sometimes, and it wasn't personal. It wasn't that Nico was still in love with Percy, or that Will wasn't enough, but that Percy was one of his original comforts, one in whom he still indulged in from time to time. The healer nodded to himself.

"There's all hands on deck at the infirmary later tonight," he informed the dark Prince. "Thalia and her squad will be returning from their investigation of the Rayas." They had traveled all the way up to Sumisu, even visiting Malcolm on the way to fill him in some more.

Nico nodded in understanding. "I'll see you f—"

"—for dinner," Will finished. They were so in sync that despite the numbing pain of losing Annabeth to the enemy, Nico found it in him to offer the smallest smile. Will beamed in return, kissing his cheek chastely. "Be safe," he nagged, using his motherly roots, one last time.

Nico rolled his eyes and not bothering with a jacket—the Canadian summers were still _more_ than warm enough for his cold-blooded soul—he stalked out of their shared cabin.

…

Percy stared at the cold, untouched tea in between them. Nico hardly liked tea—coffee reigned supreme, despite his royal roots—and Percy was too depressed to enjoy anything.

"It's awfully quiet in here," Nico noted, skeptically glancing around Percy's cabin.

There was some armor piled in a corner, and smaller, sharp-toed boots which he could only presume belonged to Annabeth.

Percy bobbed his head in silent agreement. His television was still flickering across the room, though the volume was turned down to the point where even bats wouldn't be able to hear it. Nico had a hollow feeling that Percy watched it every day, obsessively checking over Luke's public statements, and if he had decided to play puppet with Annabeth again, making her say bold things under the public eye.

Nico was not much different. He had felt disgusted every time Annabeth was forced to speak, and every time she looked worse and worse, her skin yellowing and pale, her hair thin, her stomach skinny, and her wrists too. There were always dark circles under her eyes, darker than usual.

"Nico?"

"Mhmm?" He reluctantly sipped at the tea, resisting the urge to spit it right back out. Percy had added a heap of salt for some goddamn reason. Nico had severely underestimated Percy's shaky state of mind. His mouth pursed around the rim, feeling sour.

"Thank you." His tone is crisp like a politician, a King, but Nico didn't mind. Percy tended to revert to all he'd known all his life when going through a life-shaking moment. He had lost both parents, gained a mother he thought dead, lost the love of his life not once, but _twice_ , and so much more on the endless list of all the ways the universe hated Percy Jackson. Nico could pardon his odd demeanor and manner of speaking.

Nico warmed his hands on the seeping heat from the glass. "Don't mention it."

They watched the tv together that evening, not saying one more word.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Music bloomed throughout the dining hall, filling the room with celebration and happiness—happiness she wasn't accustomed to. Annabeth blinked, absorbing the scene before her before they could notice her. They had stepped off an elevated landing onto a cold stone floor, and before a raucous party was in session.

Annabeth's eyes darted back and forth, on edge, on defense, searching every face and every shadow for opportunity, or danger. Silk and gemstones and beautiful armor winked beneath the light of a dozen chandeliers, creating a human constellation that surged and twisted on the marble floor. After a month of imprisonment, the sight was an assault on the blonde's senses, but she gulped it in, a girl starved. So many colors, so many voices, so many familiar lords and ladies. For now, they took no notice of her. Their eyes did not follow. Their focus was on one another, their cups of wine and multicolored liquor, the harried rhythm, the fragrant smoke curling through the air. It must've been a celebration, a wild one, but for what, Annabeth had no idea.

Naturally, her mind flew. Had they won another victory? Against Percy, against the Amazons? Or were they still cheering her capture?

One look at Drew was answer enough. Annaber had never seen her scowl that way, not even at herself. Her catlike sneer turned ugly, angry, full of rage like Annabeth couldn't imagine. Her eyes impossibly darkened, shifting over the display. They were black like a void, swallowing up the sight of her people in a state of ultimate bliss.

Or, Annabeth realized, ignorance.

Her blood ran cold all of a sudden. Her years of hiding in corners of the black market and palming small treasures like a thief for her studies had taught her well, both in reflexes and in senses. She could _feel_ his eyes on her, and what's more, she _knew_ he knew.

Annabeth resisted the urge to turn her face and notice him, but she caved quickly.

She came eye-to-eye with blue.

Annabeth sucked in a sharp breath, unable to anticipate how much this would have affected her. He impassively glanced at her one last time before looking up to Drew with mild irritation, then he turned to Annabeth's nearest jailer.

"Explain yourself!" he erupted.

Twig jumped in his boots.

The outburst stopped the music, the dancing, and the drinking in the span of a heartbeat.

"S-Sir—" Twig sputtered, and one of his gloved hands gripped Annabeth's arm. He tried to find an explanation that didn't put blame on himself, or Drew, but it came up short.

Annabeth's chain trembled in Kitten's hand, but her grip was still tight.

Only Drew was unaffected by the King's wrath. She expected this response.

He didn't order her to bring Annabeth here. There was no summons at all.

Luke was not a fool. He waved a hand at Twig, endling his mumbling with a single motion. "Your feeble attempt is answer enough," he said. "What do you have to say for yourself, Drew?"

The few distant relatives of the Rayas stood tall, but others were not so gifted at hiding their thoughts. They had the same eyes as Drew, the kind where the color shifts mesmerizingly. They stood on the dais with the guards. Though their bodies were still, their eyes darted between the King and Drew, and one fist clenched slowly on the smallest boy on the right. Good. Let them fear for her as Annabeth had feared for her friends and brother and. Watch her suffer as she watched Jason die.

Because what else could Luke do now? Drew had deliberately disobeyed his order, leaping past the allowances her status allowed as an ex-betrothal and hand-chosen Princess by late Queen Medusa herself. If Annabeth knew anything, she knew that to cross the King was to be punished. And to do it here, in front of the entire court? He might as well have just executed her on the spot.

If Drew thought she was risking death, she didn't show it. Her voice never cracked or wavered. "You ordered the terrorist to be imprisoned, shut away like a useless bottle of wine, and after a month of council deliberation, there had been no agreement on what is to be done with her. HEr crimes are many, worthy of a dozen deaths, a thousand lifetimes in our worst jails. She killed or maimed hundreds of your subjects since she was discovered, your own parents included, and still she rests in a comfortable bed chamber, eating, breathing—alive without the punishment she deserves."

Luke was his mother's son, and his court facade was nearly perfect.

Drew's words didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

"The punishment she deserves," he repeated. Then he looked to the room. "So you brought her here. Really, are my parties that bad?"

A thrum of laughter, both genuine and forced, rippled through the rapt crowd. Most of them were drunk, but there were enough clear heads to know what was going on. What Drew had done.

Drew pulled a courtly smile that looked so painful Annabeth expected her lips to start bleeding at the corners. "I know you are grieving for your mother, Your Majesty," she said without a hint of sympathy. "As am I. As we all are. But your father would not act this way. The time for tears is over."

Those last were not her words, but the words of Poseidon. Luke's father, Luke's ghost. His mask threatened to slip for a moment, and his eyes flashed with equal parts dread and anger. Annabeth remembered those words as well as he did. Spoken before a crowd just like this, in the wake of the Amazons' execution of political targets. Targets chosen by Luke, fed to him by his mother. Annabeth and her friends had done their dirty work, while they added to the body count with an atrocious attack of their own. They had used Annabeth, used the Amazons to eliminate some of their enemies and demonize others in one fell swoop. They destroyed more, killed more than any of them had ever wanted.

Annabeth could still smell the blood and smoke. She could still hear a mother weeping over all her dead children. She could still hear the words framing the rebellion for it all.

"Strength, power, death," Luke murmured, his teeth clicking. The words had scared Annabeth then, and they terrified her now. "What do you suggest, my Lady? A beheading? A firing squad? Do we take her apart, piece by piece?"

Annabeth's heart galloped in her chest. Would Luke have allowed such a thing? She didn't know. She didn't know what he would do. She had to remind herself, she didn't even know him. The boy she had thought him to be was an illusion. But the notes, brutally left, but full of pleas for her to return? The month of quiet, gentle captivity? Perhaps those had been false too, another trick to ensnare her. Another kind of torture.

"We do as the law requires. As your father would have done."

The way she said father, using the word as brutally as she would any knife, was confirmation enough. Like so many people in the room, she knew King Poseidon did not end the way the stories said.

Still, Luke gripped his throne, white-knuckling the white slabs. He glanced at the court, feeling their eyes upon him, before sneering back at Drew.

"Not only are you not a member of my council, but you did not know my father well enough to know his mind. I am a King as he was, and I understand the things that must be done for victory. Our laws are sacred, but we are fighting two wars now."

Two wars.

Adrenaline pulsed through Annabeth so quickly. It was hope. She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Weeks into her captivity the Amazons and Canadians continued, and thrived. Not only were they still fighting, but Luke admitted it openly. They were impossible to hide or dismiss now.

Despite the need to know more, Annabeth kept her mouth shut.

Luke burned a stare through Drew. "No enemy prisoner, especially not one as valuable as Annabeth Chase, should be wasted on common execution."

Her name in his mouth sent tingles up her spine.

"You waste her still!" Drew argued, firing back so quickly Annabeth knew she must have practiced for this argument. She took a few more steps forward, closing the distance between herself and Luke. It all seemed like a show, an act, something played out on the platform for the court to witness, but for whose benefit? "She sits collecting dust, doing nothing, giving us nothing, while Aegremonth burns!"

Another jewel on information to keep close. _More, Drew,_ Annabeth found herself pleading. _Give me more._

She had seen the fortress city, the heart of the Thasite military, erupt in riots with her own eyes a month ago. It was still happening. Mention of Aegremonth sobered the crowd. Luke did not miss it, and he fought to keep his calm.

"The council is days away from a decision, my Lady," he said through gritted teeth.

"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty. I know you wish to honor your council as best you can, even the weakest parts of it. Even the cowards who cannot do what must be done." Another step closer, and her voice softened to a purr. "But you are the King. The decision is yours."

 _Masterul,_ Annabeth realized. Drew was just as adept at manipulation as any other. In a few words, she had not only saved Luke from appearing weak, but also forced him to follow her will to maintain an image of strength. In spite of herself, Annabeth drew in a harried breath. Would he do as she bidded? Or would he refuse, throwing fuel on the fire of insurrection already blazing through the High Houses?

Luke was no fool. He understood what Drew was doing, and he kept his focus on her. They held each other's gaze, communicating with forced smiles and sharp eyes.

"My mother certainly did bring forth the most talented daughter," he said, taking her hand. Both of them looked disgusted by the action. His head snapped to the crowd, looking to a lean man in dark blue. _A Calbourne_ , Annabeth realized. "Cousin! Your petition of interrogation is granted."

Kronos Calbourne snapped to attention and emerged from the crowd, clear-eyed. He bowed, almost grinning. Blue robes billowed, dark as smoke. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"No."

The word wrenched itself from Annabeth.

"No, Luke!"

Kronos moved quickly, ascending the platform with controlled fury. He closed the distance between them in a few determined strides, until his eyes were the only thing in Annabeth's world. Blue eyes, Medusa's eyes, Luke's eyes.

"Luke!" Annabeth gasped again, begging even though it would do nothing. Begging even though it burned her pride to think she was asking him for anything. But what else was there to do? Kronos was an esteemed interrogator, rival only to that of Medusa. He would destroy her from the inside out, search everything she was, everything she knew. How many people would die because of what she'd seen? "Luke, please! Don't let him do this!"

Annabeth was not strong enough to break Kitten's grasp on her chain or even struggle much when Twig seized her shoulders. Both of them held her in place with ease. Her eyes flashed from Kronos to Luke. One hand on his throne, one hand in Drew's. _I miss you_ , his notes said. He was unreadable, but at least he was looking.

Good. If he wouldn't save her from this nightmare, she wanted him to see it happen.

"Luke," she whispered one last time, trying to sound like herself. Not little Annie, not Lady Chase Ashington the prized Princess, but Annabeth. The girl he watched through the bars of a cell and pledged to save. But that girl wasn't enough. He dropped his eyes. He looked away.

She was alone.

Kronos took her throat in his hand, squeezing above the metal collar, forcing her to look into his wretched, familiar eyes. Blue as ice, and just as unforgiving

"You were wrong to kill Medusa," he said, not bothering to temper his words. "She was a surgeon with minds."

He leaned in, a starving man about to devour a meal.

"I am a butcher."

…

Annabeth's mind was still numb four days later from Kronos' torture when Luke stormed into her room, startling her. He peered at her through the bars, his anger evident. Her first, albeit pathetic, feeling was fear. Where had she gone wrong again?

But no—this anger was different.

It was exposed and unashamed. When he was angry with her, it was much, much worse. It was quiet in that way that minefields were, the sand still, right before mighty TNT blew up the entire land, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

The guards took one look at his face before fearfully scurrying out of her room. Annabeth had never wanted Twig and Kitten by her side up until now.

"She took you from my room!"

Annabeth seized back in her cage, her eyes wide. She had never, _ever_ seen him like this. He was not raised to be this vocal about his anger, but he looked like he was ready to burn down a city. She swallowed noisily.

Summoning her courage, she said perhaps her first words to him since her capture. "I called for you." She squeezes her eyes shut, the mere notion of pleading for _Luke_ enough to make her want to throw up.

Luke hesitated, listening.

"I called for _you_ ," Annabeth croaked again, looking up at him. His fists were balling and unraveling at his sides over, and over, and over again. The words did not sound any cheaper, no matter how she emphasized it. "And you turned away." The interrogation had left her brain hazier than she had ever been. Even alcohol did not intoxicate her like this.

There's some semblance of guilt in his eyes, but Annabeth could not find it in her to accept his silent apology, no matter how he shaped his expressions. He was a monster, she tried to remind herself. His voice trembled with rage. "You're mine. Only mine. No one can touch you without my permission. No one can hurt you." The implied _except me_ hung in the air like a dark cloud, diminishing his bold words. "I'll make her pay for touching what belongs to me," he growled, and Annabeth shuddered. This wasn't love; this was an obsession. The obsession of a Boy King, the possession of a broken little boy, manipulated by Medusa, stripping away whatever was left of the boy she thought she'd loved. The boy who had never existed.

"And I take care of things that are mine." His eyes darkened, and she swallowed hard, backing away slowly but surely. He was too angry to have good judgement, to be cautious, to stray from being reckless. She was scared out of her mind, and weirdly relieved to know he had indeed regretted not saving her from Kronos. Part of him, no matter how twisted, would watch out for her, would be her saving grace, all derived from his obsession.

"And I'll remind them a thousand times if I must."

Annabeth's hands were clammy. "Luke…" she trailed off. His name hurt too, but his eyes only brandished a brighter blue at her lips shaping his name. Annabeth didn't scream, refusing to give him the satisfaction, to give Drew the satisfaction, wherever that twisted bitch was.

…

Burned into her collarbone, it was a nasty scar, the letter of an ex-love. It was a scar that she suspected would never fully heal. Her breath hitched and she shut her eyes, squeezing them closed.

She would not get sleep that night.

 _L_ for Luke, _L_ for leash, _L_ for limit, _L_ for lies, and _L_ for love.

…

Two weeks or so passed before he saw her again. He was much calmer this time round, but it didn't keep the apprehension away from her.

Luke sat in a chair opposite to her, and the guards obediently filed out of the room, leaving them alone. It was a stark contrast to Octavian, Annabeth noted, who always stood over her, towering above her. Luke, she realized, did not need elevation to feel powerful, and she wasn't sure if that was more terrifying or less.

Annabeth sat back on her bed at his entrance, frowning at his arrival. She discreetly dropped the pages she had been ripping to shreds from the rotating books onto the carpeted floor.

"Luke," she addressed tersely.

"Annabeth." His voice was impassive, but just as painful as ever. He eyed the littered papers carefully, and Annabeth defiantly raised her chin in response.

A question that had been nagging her found its way out of her mouth without her permission. "Why had you been celebrating that day?" The day she walked into the dining room, only to leave with Kronos having a vice grip on her brain. She didn't expect him to answer honestly, and his answer surprised her.

"I am engaged."

"Oh." That hadn't been what she was expecting at all.

"You didn't know?"

"How could I? I'm not exactly kept informed."

Luke shrugged, raising his shoulders, showing more of his white skin as the water royal robe around him shifted. "Yes, well, I didn't really think you were going to start breaking things over me, but…" He paused and looked her way, then back down at the papers. "It felt good to wonder."

If there were no consequences, Annabeth would have scowled and screamed and clawed his eyes out. Tell Luke that even though her time with his brother had been fleeting, she still remembered every heartbeat they shared; it didn't matter if she had spent longer in this prison than with Percy, and therefore had known Luke longer. She wanted to tell him that she remembered the feel of his brother pressed up against her as they slept, alone together, trading nightmares. His hand at her neck, flesh on flesh, making her look at him as they dropped from the sky. What he smelled like. What he tasted like. _I love your brother, Luke. You were right. You are only a shadow, and who looks at shadows when they have flame? Who would ever choose a monster over a god?_

She couldn't hurt Luke with knives, but she could destroy him with words, poke at his weak spots, open his wounds, let him bleed and scab over into something worse than he ever was before.

The words she managed instead were much different.

"To whom?"

Luke gave her one long look, and she shut her mouth. He had already revealed more than she had hoped for. She would not be greedy.

"Not Drew," he finally said, filling the silence.

Annabeth gaped at him. Not Drew? If she had expected anyone, it would have been her. She would have made a formidable ally.

"Why not?" she blurted out.

Luke sneered, but it lacked its usual malice. He coolly adjusted the badges on his heavy military coat. He was quiet, and she understood before he could say so. He always gave her room to think. "Her family's backstabbed too many times," said Luke, "I won't reward them for it."

Annabeth nodded curtly. They fell silent again. It was odd to be in the same room as him and not be trading insults back and forth, or at least not daydreaming of spilling his blood on an altar. Annabeth forced herself to take a good look at him. _He's a monster. A monster,_ she chanted internally.

"Will you kill Drew?" She didn't expect honesty again, and once more he surprised her.

"We'll see," he muttered, his words clipped. "She has been relatively useful."

"Do you like her?" she asked instead, changing topics entirely.

If it had been anyone else but Luke, they would have misunderstood, taking 'her' for Drew, not for his betrothed. But it _was_ Luke, and he understood her more than she herself did. He scratched a hand along his scalp and huffed, childlike. "As if that has anything to do with it."

"Well, she is the first relationship you'll have since your mother died. It'll be interesting to see how that plays without her poison in you." Annabeth drummed her fingers at her sides. It was a loaded statement, designed to evoke a reply from him, designed to confirm if Medusa really fucked with his mind, or if it had all been a lie. The words sunk in slowly, and he barely nodded. Agreeing. Annabeth felt a surge of pity for him. She fought it tooth and nail. "And you betrothed what, a few weeks ago? It seems fast, faster than your engagement to me at least." The reminder was bitter, but true. She could not hide from the past, no matter how horrific.

"That tends to happen when an entire army hangs in the balance." His voice is dry, but not as harsh as usual.

It twisted Annabeth's insides to realize how rigged the game had been, for everyone, for so long.

"Why are you here?" Annabeth finally broke, looking at him skeptically. "What do you want from me?"

"More than your freedom?" Luke voiced emptily.

At least he knew he had everything she had to offer. That calmed her nerves. "Yes," she said anyways. "You would never visit me unless you needed something. So?" she prodded.

When Luke fell silent, she understood. He had visited not for him, but for her. He knew she got lonely, knew she ripped paper from frustration of loneliness, of emptiness, of lack of mental stimulation. The thought made her go quiet too.

"Will you let me go?" Annabeth begged abruptly. She was pleading now, as she had for no one else. Not for Percy, not for her brother, not for anyone else. Just him.

Luke stood from his chair.

"Luke," she whispered when he turned his back on her, ready to leave. "Please."

He flinched, pained, but she could not find sympathy for him. Not now. She _needed_ him to love her, not to simply obsess. To believe that he was good, good enough to set her free.

He didn't say anything before walking out of the room.


	28. Caught Grinning At The Dead Body

**Drew**

If someone had told her five years ago she'd be making out with a lover while a reception for dead ex-betrothed was being held, she would've told them they were crazy and then proceeded to drive her heel into their foot, just for extra measure.

Cecily's lips glided across her skin, soft and pliant under hers. Drew slipped her tongue into Cecily's mouth, engrossed in the way Cecily seemed to take her somewhere else, somewhere beautiful and untouched by worldly worries.

"You're fired up today," Cecily murmured against her mouth, the crimson of her lips curving up into a half-smile. Her eyes were half-lidded, barely peeking at Drew through the clouding bliss.

"I'm angry," Drew admitted, relishing the way in which Cecily writhed involuntarily, as if she couldn't help but try to scratch her way out of the mind-numbing pleasure.

Drew stilled as Cecily found her release, her chest heaving with exhaustion. Cecily pulled the covers up to her chin, and Drew found herself toying with the fiery locks, trying to escape the cage in her head.

"It's _tomorrow,_ Cecily." No longer was she after Luke's crown. No, she would find another way for a crown of her own. She couldn't even force herself to marry Luke and be his Queen. The mere thought made her physically sick.

"I know," Cecily whispered. Heavy footsteps dragged across the marble outside the locked door, and Cecily stilled until they passed. They were somber. They were remembering Octavian, after all, though Drew suspected not one attendee was genuine, only there for show. Luke would probably speak, tugging at the heartstrings of the people like he always did.

It wasn't just the people. There was one girl in particular who could help her.

Drew sat up quickly, startling Cecily.

"Where are you going?" Cecily tiredly inquired.

Drew gently pushed her back down on the bed, allowing her to rest. "I'll be back soon," she promised, her voice stiff. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. Who better to make change than the girl who had eternally promised change with her death wish and leave of the Epresh throne?

Drew harriedly slipped her butterfly knives into the buckles around her slim waist, eager to make the of the future as she pleased.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth stepped over shards of glass—she had been smashing china again recently, and was promptly startled when the door swung open. Annabeth hopefully glanced up at the door, immediately on alert when she realized who it was.

Kitty disapprovingly eyed the Princess. Twig was half-asleep, and he didn't seem to care in the slightest, but all of a sudden he jolted forward, his expression twisting into anger. That was right. She had set them up last time.

Drew pattered into the cell, her footsteps quiet like mice.

Annabeth swallowed the rising bile. Drew. Who else? Annabeth's hand trailed up to her neck by itself. She squeezed lightly, her cold fingers awakening her. Was this the end? Would this be the rest of her life, wondering when her end would come, looking for sweet release in every opportunity? She had already contemplated it. Kitty and Twig would surely stop her from slicing herself to ribbons with the broken china, forever vigilant. Funny, she always used to think her greatest fear was being left alone. Now she was anything but, and she had never been more terrified. Besides, the Amazons would need her to survive, right? Maybe they didn't need her at all. She was disposable, just as Malcolm had warned her so long, still a King.

"What do you want from me?" Annabeth growled, glaring up at Drew.

Drew looked down her nose to scrutinize Annabeth's cage, her usual superior self in a long, glinting coat and tightly sewn leather leggings. She must have come from the arena. For a moment Drew stood still, and both young women traded glances in the silence.

"Are you so dangerous that they cannot even allow you to open a window?" She sniffed the air and didn't answer Annabeth's question. "It's musty here. Or maybe it's just you."

Annabeth's tightened muscles relaxed a little. "So you're bored," she muttered. "Go rattle someone else's cage."

"Funny," Drew dryly remarked, finally looking at Annabeth seriously. "But for now, you're going to be useful."

Annabeth rolled her eyes. "I don't feel like being your doormat right now, Drew."

"Sucks," she snipped. Without another word, she reached through the cage, slamming Annabeth against the hard metal. The blonde resisted a groan of pain, unwilling to bend to Drew's will and thirst for power.

Kitty was getting antsy, uncomfortable by Tanaka's easy actions. It was clear she did not care about any repercussions of being here, not even after Luke publically called her out. She was fearless, and Annabeth wasn't sure if that made Drew more dangerous or simply foolish. Annabeth could feel her forearm bruising at Drew's tight grip.

"Let go," Annabeth bit out, but Drew was undeterred.

"Open it up," the Raya demanded, irritated.

"We can't do that," Twig spat.

"Your loyalty to King Luke is admirable," Drew drawled, and Twig's face went red at her mockery, "but she has business to do. Don't make me ask again."

Twig cursed. "With all due respect," he paused to shoot her an ugly sneer, "His Highness is much more formidable than _you._ "

Annabeth saw it before she could say anything. If she had blinked, she would have entirely missed it. Lodged in Twig's chest was none other than one of Drew's metallic butterfly knives. She hadn't even seen the Princess move. Fear spiked through Annabeth, unlike anything she'd ever known.

Kitty paled. "Any more complaints?" Drew's eyes glittered. She twirled the keys she'd plucked off Twig's dead body around her index finger like a chakra. Kitty hastily unlocked Annabeth's cage, but Annabeth felt more caged with Drew's iron palm around her thin skin than in the actual cage.

"Like I said, you'll be useful." Drew nodded at Annabeth, practically dragging her out the door. Kitty didn't dare follow.

Annabeth didn't struggle. There was no point to it. Eventually Drew loosened her tight, pale fingers and let Annabeth walk without the pinch of her hand.

"If you wanted to take the pet for a walk, all you had to do was ask," Annabeth growled at her, massaging her newest bruise. "Don't you have a new rival to hate? Or is it easier to pick on a prisoner rather than a Princess?" she taunted.

"Katie is far too calm for my liking," Drew shot back. "You still have some bite, at least." Annabeth slowly soaked in the information; Drew never disappointed to drop small tidbits, but Drew wasn't careless in the least. Annabeth figured she simply didn't care enough to shield information from her. Katie… as in Katie Gardner? So _that_ was who Luke was engaged to. She struggled to recall where Katie came from. A princess from a European country surely. Annabeth didn't remember the name too well.

"Good to know I amuse you," Annabeth retorted. The passage twisted in front of them. Left, right, right. The blueprint of Thasite's castle sharpened in her mind's eye. They passed the tsunami tapestries in blue and white, edges studded with real gemstones.

Then a gallery of statues and paintings dedicated to the Calbournes. The halls became more ornate, but with fewer public displays of opulence as Drew led her to the royal residences. An increasing number of gilded paintings of Kings, politicians, and warriors watched them go, most of them with the characteristic Calbourne sea-green eyes. They made her heart ache, reminding her of the King-to-be back at the base.

"Has King Luke let you keep your rooms, at least? Even though he took your crown?" Annabeth remarked. Luke and his mother had taken Drew's status and engagement to Percy too with this grand scheme of theirs.

Drew's lips twisted into a smirk, not a scowl. "See? You never disappoint. All bite, Annabeth Chase."

Annabeth had never been to these doors before, but she could guess where they led. They were much too grand to be for anyone but a King. Whie lacquered wood, marble trim, inlaid with mother of pearl and sapphire and turquoise. Drew didn't knock this time and threw the doors open, only to find an opulent antechamber lined by six guards. They bristled at Annabeth and Drew's presence, hands straying to weapons, eyes sharp.

Drew didn't balk. "Tell the King Annabeth Chase is here to see him."

"The King is indisposed," one answered. "Be gone, Lady Tanaka Raya."

Drew showed no fear and ran a hand through her long raven braid. "Tell him," she said again. She didn't have to drop her voice or snarl to be threatening. "He'll want to know."

Annabeth's heart pounded in her chest. What was Drew doing? Why? The last time she decided to parade her around the castle, she ended up at the mercy of Kronos Calbourne, Annabeth's mind split open for him to sift through. Drew had an agenda. She had motives. If only Annabeth knew what they were, so she could've done the exact opposite.

One of the guards broke before she did. "A moment, my Lady."

Annabeth couldn't stand Luke's chambers. Just being there felt like stepping into quicksand, plunging into the ocean, falling off a cliff. _Send us away, send us away_ , Annabeth internally pleaded.

The guard returned quickly. When he waved off his comrades, Annabeth's stomach dropped. "This way, Ashington." He beckoned to her.

Drew gave her the slightest nudge, putting pressure on the base of her spine, perfectly executed. Annabeth lurched forward.

It would've been easier if someone dragged her. If the guard put a gun to her head and forced her to walk through. Blaming her moving feet on another person would've hurt less. Instead it was only her. Boredom. Morbid curiosity. The constant ache of pain and loneliness. Annabeth lived in a shrinking world where the only thing she could trust was Luke's obsession. Like the manacles, it was a shield and a slow, smothering death.

The doors swung inward, gliding over white marble tile. Steam spiraled on the air, not from the King himself, but hot water. It was boiling lazily around him, milky with soap and scented oils. Unlike his bed, the bath was large, standing on clawed metal feet. He rested an elbow on either side of the flawless porcelain, fingers trailing carelessly through the swirling water.

Luke tracked her as she entered, his eyes electric and lethal. Annabeth had never seen him so off guard and so angry. A smarter girl would've turned and ran. Instead, Annabeth shut the door behind her.

There were no seats, so she remained standing. She wasn't sure where to look, so Annabeth focused on his face. His hair was mussed, soaking wet. Blond curls clung to his skin.

"I'm busy," he whispered.

"You didn't have to let me in." Annabeth wished she could swallow the words as soon as she spoke them.

"Yes I did," he said, meaning all things. Then he blinked, breaking his stare. He leaned back, tipping his head against the tub so he could stare up at the ceiling. "What do you need?"

 _A way out, forgiveness, a good night's sleep, my family._ The list stretched on, endless.

"Drew dragged me here. I don't want anything from you."

He made a noise low in his throat. Almost a laugh. "Drew. My guards are cowards."

If Luke was her friend, Annabeth would have warned him not to underestimate a daughter of House Raya. Instead, she held her tongue. The steam stuck to her skin, feverish as hot flesh.

"She brought you here to convince me," he said.

"To do what?"

"Marry Katie, don't marry Katie. She certainly didn't send you in here for a tea party."

"No," Annabeth agreed. Drew would keep scheming for a Queen's crown up until the second Luke put it on another girl's head. It was what she was made for. Just like Luke was made for other, more horrible things.

"She thinks what I feel for you can cloud my judgement. Foolish."

Annabeth flinched. The brand on her collarbone seared.

"Heard you started smashing things again," he continued.

"You have bad taste in china."

He grinned at the ceiling. A crooked smile. Like his brother's. For a second, Luke's face became Percy's, their features shifting. With a jolt, Annabeth realized she had been here longer than she even knew Percy. She knew Luke's face better than his.

He shifted, making the water ripple as he dandled an arm out of the bath. Annabeth wrenched her eyes away, looking down at the tile. She didn't want to see more of Luke than she must. Again she felt herself on the edge of quicksand.

"The wedding is tomorrow," he finally said. His voice echoed off the marble. "The Gardners are not known for their patience."

Annabeth scoffed. "And House Raya is?"

A corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of that crooked smile. He fiddled with one of his rings, slowly spinning the circle around his fine-boned fingers. "They have their uses."

"I thought Drew would have turned you into a pincushion by now."

His smile spread. "If she kills me, she loses whatever chance she thinks she has, however fleeting. Not that her relatives would ever allow it. House Raya maintains a position of great power, even if she isn't Queen. But what a Queen she would have made."

"I can only imagine." The thought shuddered through her. Crowns of needles and daggers and razors, dressed in jeweled snakes and her parents, had they been alive, holding Luke's puppet strings.

"I can't," he admitted. "Not really. Even now, I only ever see her as Percy's Queen." His brother's name in his mouth was natural, devoid of poison. Annabeth shifted her weight uncomfortably.

"You didn't have to choose Drew or even Katie after you framed him—"

"Well, I couldn't exactly choose the person I wanted, could I?" he snapped.

Instead of heat, Annabeth felt the air around them turn cold, cold enough to make goosebumps prickle across her skin as he glared at her, his eyes a livid, burning blue. The steam on the air cleared on the current cooler air, removing the faint barrier between them.

Shivering, Annabeth forced herself to the closest window, putting her back to him. Outside, the trees shuddered on a light breeze, their green leaves dewy in the sunset's light. Such simple beauty had no place here without the corruption of blood or ambition or betrayal.

"You threw me into a cage to die," she told him slowly. As if either of them would have forgotten. "You keep me chained up in your palace, guarded night and day. You let me waste away, sick—"

"You think I enjoy seeing you like this?" he murmured. "You think I want to keep you a prisoner?" Something hitched in his breath. "It's the only way you'll stay with me." Water sloshed over his hands as he drew them back and forth.

Annabeth focused on the sound instead of his voice. Even though she knew what he was doing, even though she could feel his metaphorical grip on her tightening, she couldn't stop it from pulling her under. It would be too easy to let herself drown. Part of her wanted to. She kept her eyes on the window.

"You tried to murder everyone I care about. You killed children." A baby, bloodstained, a note in its little fist. She remembered it so vividly it could've been a nightmare. She didn't try to force the image away. She needed to remember it. She needed to remember what he was. "Because of you, my friend is dead." An image of Jason spun in her head.

Annabeth spun to him, barking out a harsh, vengeful laugh. Anger cleared her head.

He sat up sharply, his naked torso almost as white as the bathwater.

"And you killed my mother. You took my brother. You took my father. The second you fell into this world eighteen years ago, the wheels were in motion. My mother looked into your heart and saw opportunity. She saw a chance she had been looking for forever. If you hadn't—if you had never—" He stumbled, the words coming faster than he could stop them. Then he grit his teeth, clamping down on anything more damning. Another breath of silence. "I don't want to know what would have been."

"I know," Annabeth snarled. "I would've ended up in a trench, obliterated or torn apart of barely surviving as the walking dead. I know what I would have become, because I fight with the people who would have torn me apart." The Amazons.

"Knowing what you know now… would you go back? Would you choose that life? Your family, some other betrothed, your frustrating council meetings and being dismissed by late Frederick?"

Luke let her think, his eyes thoughtful as he watched the emotions rise in her face. He always let her think. Sometimes his silence was better than anyone else's words.

So many were dead because of her, because of who she was. If she were just a Princess, just angry Annabeth Chase, they would've been alive. Jason would've been alive. Her thoughts hinged on him. She would trade so many things to have him back. She would've traded herself a thousand times. But then there were the people found and saved, rebellions aided, a war ended, royals tearing at one another, the people uniting. She had had a hand in all of it, however small. Mistakes were made. Her mistakes. Too many to count. She was worlds away from perfect, or even good. The true question ate at her brain, what Luke was really asking. Would she give up her power, her fight, to go back? She didn't need time to figure out an answer.

"No," Annabeth whispered. She didn't remember moving so close to him, her hand closing on one side of the porcelain bath. "No, I wouldn't."

The confession choked worse than the sea, eating at her insides. Annabeth hated him for what he made her feel, what he made her realize. She wondered if she could move fast enough to incapacitate him, clench a fist, bust his jaw with the hard manacle. Can healers regrow teeth? No real point in trying. She wouldn't have lived long enough to find out.

He stared up at her. "Those who know what it's like in the dark will do anything to stay in the light."

"Don't act like we're the same."

"The same? No." He shook his head. "But perhaps… we're even."

"Even?" Again she wanted to tear him apart, use her nails, her teeth to rip his throat. The insinuation cut almost as much as the fact that he might've been right.

"I used to ask Tiresias if he could see futures that no longer exist." Annabeth sucked in a breath. That was right. When Tiresias had led her to mistakenly let Jason die, he had betrayed her for Luke's favor. He had been one of Luke's court, surely. "He said paths were always changing, an easy lie. It let him manipulate me in a way even the Rayas couldn't. And when he led me to you, well, I didn't argue. How was I supposed to know what poison you would be?"

"If I'm poison, then get rid of me. Stop torturing us both!"

"You know I can't do that, no matter how much I may want to." His lashes flickered, and his eyes went far away. Somewhere even Annabeth couldn't reach him.

"You're like Iris was. You are the only person I care about, the only person who reminds me I am alive. Not empty. And not alone."

Alive. Not empty. Not alone.

Each confession was an arrow, piercing every nerve ending until Annabeth's body turned to cold fire. She hated that Luke could say such things. She hated that he felt what she felt, feared what she feared. She hated it; she hated it. And if she could've changed who she was, how she thought, she would've. But she couldn't. If the gods were real, they certainly knew how she'd tried.

"Tiresias would not tell me about the dead futures—the ones no longer possible. I think about them, though," he mumbled. "A Calbourne King, an Ashington Queen. How would things have changed? How many would still be alive?"

"Not your father. Not Percy. And certainly not me."

"I know it's just a dream, Annabeth," he snapped like a child corrected in the classroom. "Any window we had, however small, is gone."

"Because of you."

"Yes." Soften, an admission of his own. "Yes."

Never breaking eye contact, Luke slipped the rings from his index finger. It was slow, deliberate, methodic. She heard it hit the floor and roll, metal ringing against the marble. Still watching, he leaned back in the bath and tipped his head, exposing his neck. At her side, Annabeth's hands twitched. It would be so easy, wrap her tan fingers around his pale neck, put all her weight into it, pin him down. She could drown him, kill him, let the bathwater boil them both. He dared her to do it. Part of him might've wanted her to do it, or it could've been one of the thousands of traps she'd fallen for, another trick of Luke Castellan Calbourne.

He blinked and exhaled, letting go of something deep inside himself. It broke the spell, and the moment shattered.

"You'll be one of Katie's ladies tomorrow. Enjoy yourself."

One more arrow to the gut.

Annabeth wished for another glass to smash against the wall. A lady-in-waiting for the wedding of the century, no chance of slipping away. She would have to stand before the entire court, eyes everywhere. She wanted to scream.

 _Use the anger. Use the rage,_ she tried to tell herself. Instead, it just consumed her and turned to despair.

Luke just gestured lazily with an open hand. "There's the door."

She tried not to look back as she went, but she couldn't help herself. Luke stared at the ceiling, his eyes empty, and she heard Chiron in her head, whispering the words he'd written in the many books Luke had left her.

_Not a god's chosen, but a god's cursed._

* * *

**Nico**

"Fuck me."

Malcolm blinked up at him owlishly, but Will was unperturbed. He was used to Nico's little 'slips.' They happened an awful lot in the dark of the night for _other_ reasons.

"Excuse me?" Malcolm was horrified, and Nico tried his best to hide a blush because he could feel Will smiling next to him, and he was almost certain Will would jump at the opportunity or say something inappropriate or—

"Even dead, the Duke's caused so many issues," Nico hastily offered an explanation for his outburst, relieved when Malcolm's expression relaxed.

"You can just call him a bastard," Malcolm muttered. "I'm not going to chew your head off for insulting the buffoon who tortured my sister."

Silence lingered in the air, and Nico knew they were all thinking of the _other_ boy whose grasp she was currently in.

"I got it," Percy gasped, walking in through the heavy doors of Malcolm's bedroom at the Epresh castle. The castle was noisier than Nico remembered, and he knew it was because Epresh had recently adopted democracy and sided with the Amazons per Annabeth's request.

Malcolm was no longer a King. Nico still found it odd to see him without a crown and to not respectfully refer to him as one, given that he was also a few years his senior and Percy's too. In fact, he was the youngest one here again. Malcolm was nineteen, nearly twenty, Percy had just recently turned nineteen a few days ago—a depressing birthday, and one that Percy had ignored himself, Will was about two months older than him, and then Nico was simply sixteen, yet he didn't feel out of place. Percy was a good friend, Will was more than that, and Malcolm was distant, yet familiar, seeing as he grew up alongside all the royals, seeing them at each and every ceremony.

The blood on Percy's face starkly stood out on his smooth tan, reminding Nico of where they were and why.

Piper had sent Will, Percy, and Nico all to Epresh to investigate Octavian's products of his immortality experiments. It was harder without Annabeth. She had all the math and science in her brain, and she knew exactly what was going on. They were simply left to pick at the scraps of information she'd left scattered and attempt to decipher the blonde's thinking. Naturally, Malcolm had the closest brain, and so Nico had suggested seeking out the assistance of her older brother.

Percy dumped a heavy body onto the wooden table before them, snapping the young Pevanshire out of his daydreams disguised as nightmares.

Malcolm critically analyzed the monster in front of them.

"You couldn't keep the head intact?" Nico inquired in disgustion, peering at the sopping wet Siren.

"She got too close," Percy weakly apologized as Will fussed over him, cleaning the gash and bandaging his face.

"I offered to do it," Nico protested.

Will glared at him, momentarily looking away from Percy to really land his point. "We both know Percy's better with water," he quipped and then rather harshly dabbed at Percy's blood—enough to make the green-eyed man wince.

Nico rolled his eyes. He had offered because he was _gay,_ duh. Sirens' pretty faces had diminished effects on him, and even with Malcolm's bulletproof ear-plugs, there were still more risks for Percy to slaughter the sea creature. There was still some seaweed draped in her auburn hair, and Malcolm cautiously flicked it off with the edge of his sword, refusing to touch it with his hands.

As the four young men hovered over her corpse, Nico found himself amused by the other three's determination to ignore the elephant in the room: the siren was, of course, adorned in nothing more than her birthday suit. The myths stated that they would tempt sailors, causing them to crash their ships into the rocks and sink, and Nico was sure that her nakedness was part of it.

Percy discreetly covered torso with a nearby cloth, nearly sending Nico over the edge. He really shouldn't have found it as funny as he did, but he'd always had a rather crude, dark sense of humor. A dead siren was not exempt from his jokes.

Malcolm coughed awkwardly at Percy's actions, and Nico bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Being caught smirking at a dead body probably wouldn't bode well for him, even if it was a monster and unable to classify as human with emotions or anything of that sort.

As if Will could sense his line of thought, the blond harshly yet subtly stomped on the front of his toes, and Nico squeezed the hilt of his sword, not willing to screech and give Will the satisfaction.

Through their discoveries, they had realized Octavian had been trying to raise dead armies to become even stronger. He had tested his formulas on animals, and they went rogue, morphing into Greek monsters and massacring people. It was why he had sought the secret to immortality, and the answer had died with him. The only other person who knew the truth, the full and complete truth with all the formulas and the key to immortality was locked in the Calbourne King's cell. The memory made Nico's mouth twist, a sour taste running through him.

"We should investigate her heart," Malcolm declared as he set her goopy, somewhat mangled, brain off to the side. Will had excavated it—he was a certified surgeon and doctor, of course—but Malcolm knew what to look for. He had done as much research as possible on immortality before their get-together. And Nico and Percy…they were simply there to hunt and kill creatures and drag them back for their scientific counterparts to inspect. Oh, and Nico liked to make snarky commentary too.

There was an awkward silence. Taking out the heart would mean taking off the cloth currently covering her bosom. And probably groping the corpse in the process just to remove flesh and scales.

"I'll do it," Will hesitantly offered.

Nico smirked. Of course he'd do it. Malcolm would find it indecent. Heterosexuals were so weird, Nico decided, unaffected by the siren's pale figure. Will, on the other hand, much like Nico, was too gay to function.

"I'll help. Just tell me what to do," Nico instructed Dr. Solace. Nico was mildly amused by the thought. _I'm too gay to function_ , he inwardly confirmed, liking the sound of it the more he thought of it.

All of a sudden, all heads turned to him. Will was horrified, and Percy's mouth hung slightly open, clearly taken off guard. Malcolm coughed, surprised, his grey eyes wide.

Nico's face set aflame, the bright red lighting up his white face. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit._ He did _not_ just say that out loud. He wasn't exactly prone to outbursts like _that,_ but honestly after killing two or three of these monsters, his brain was fried, and he wasn't thinking straight—not that he ever really was, and he hadn't meant for his snarky commentary to _come out of his mouth._

"Nico!" Will reprimanded, shakily dropping the surgical knife. It fell to the ground with a clatter.

"Did you just—" Percy cut himself off. He didn't look mad. At least, Nico hoped he wasn't.

This really wasn't how he'd planned to out himself. Who was he kidding? He hadn't planned to out himself _ever._ Maybe he'd put it on his grave. He wasn't ready for this. Annabeth was the only one who was ever supposed to know… not Percy, his childhood friend, or Malcolm, a proper citizen and esteemed young man who always followed the rules and did as his parents had said.

Nico's mouth opened and closed like fish. He glanced wistfully down at the siren, wishing it was him gutted and splayed all over the table instead.

"You just—" Percy tried again.

"—no," Nico quickly interrupted, finding his shaky voice. Will's hands were steady like a surgeon, but he was deeply afraid. What would happen next? Would they be forced into hiding? Executed? Publicly shamed? It was like all his worst nightmares were all coming true.

"You just said you 'were too gay to function!'" Percy repeated, accusing.

Nico winced at his words in Percy's mouth, words that really should've never been said out loud. Someone might as well have just shot him then. It was better than this.

"He's joking," Will desperately cut in. "You know Nico, always making weird jokes."

Percy doubtfully glanced between them. They were standing three feet further apart than they had been initially. "No…" Percy trailed off, calling Will's lie. Nico flinched. "Nico doesn't joke like this. He jokes about his demise, not being a… um… being…"

"Homosexual," Malcolm cut in, finishing Percy's sentence for him. When the Ashington analyzed him, Nico found himself shrinking. He felt like he was under a microscope, the new monster.

Percy opened his mouth to say something but—

"Don't you dare," Will beat him to it.

Nico looked up at his love, anxious. _Don't do it,_ he silently pleaded.

Will didn't look at him. _Fuck,_ Nico seethed. He was going to—

"Nico's not the only one," Will continued.

 _Fuck!_ He wanted to beg Will to shut the fuck up.

"And he's not any different than you already know just because of this new tidbit of information," Will continued. Well, at least he hadn't also outed himself. Nico found a small solace in that. At least if he went down, they wouldn't murder Will with him. "Personally, I think the countries are fucked up for this hatred. Did you know that the Canadians fully accept homosexuality? As do the Amazons, obviously."

Percy and Malcolm shared a brief look before looking back at Will. Will's hand was trembling as he spoke, and he subconsciously took a step before Nico, protective. Nico wanted Will to back up before he got hurt, wanted him to stop putting himself between them to protect him. Will was his priority; he could not allow anything to happen to him.

"Homosexuality isn't a sin," Will declared, his voice quivering.

Nico reached for his sword for comfort. The familiar leather hilt did nothing, however, to soothe his fears.

"Will…" Percy began, but Will quickly cut him off.

"No!" Will's voice wavered with rage, and Nico glanced at him, concerned. Will was a difficult one to anger. "I've seen the fear on their faces, the entire community, as they try to hide themselves from _you_ people," he spat, disgusted. His arm spread, shielding Nico with his entire body now. Will was head shorter than Percy and Malcolm, but he did not move, planting his feet firmly on the ground. "It's disgusting!" Will ranted. "The way you instill fear in them! Nico nearly married a woman because of your unpleasant, disturbing heterosexual ideals! He's too proud to admit it, too brave, but I _know._ I know he must fear for himself and his reputation every moment of his life. He's _sixteen_ , do you understand me? And he fears for his, not because of the wars, not because of his position, not because so many people like Octavian are thirsty to have his head, but because he doesn't love a _female._ Do you see how bizarre that is? Are you so thick-headed that you cannot admit when you are wrong?"

Nico stepped backwards, unable to bear the scene unfolding before him. This was too much, this was too much, this was too—they would _kill_ Will, not only for standing up for him, but for openly supporting LGBTQ+ rights, for calling them—ex-royals and beloved faces in the public eye—idiots.

"Will," Nico weakly protested.

"No!" Will spun on him, infuriated. "Stay out of this, Nico. You're in _no_ wrong; there is _nothing_ wrong with you. Don't you dare let them stomp all over you again!"

Nico's mouth fell ajar, surprised to be snapped at by Will. Will spun back around, glaring up at Malcolm and Percy.

Nico watched Percy's slender fingers carefully. The Calbourne was discreetly reaching for Riptide, and Nico had a feeling it was more because of how enraged Will was, how out of control he was getting, not as much what he was saying. Or at least Nico hoped so. He couldn't even begin to fathom Percy wanting to kill Will for defending his sexual orientation. Nico reached for his own sword, ready to fight Perseus to save Will from the consequences of his rash words.

"Don't you dare!" Nico found his voice before Will could say anything. He glared at Percy, unsheathing his own sword. He shoved Will out of the way, holding up his stygian sword defensively.

Percy had Riptide out in the blink of an eye, startled by Nico's sudden movement. He also held his sword lightly, only in a defensive pose. Malcolm was unarmed, but he held his pen wickedly, also in defense, though Percy had already side-stepped in front of him to protect him.

"Relax, Nico—" Percy tried.

"—no! Don't hurt Will; he doesn't know better!" Nico felt strangled. "It's not his fault! He doesn't mean to offend you."

"Yes, I do!" Will snapped.

"Will!" Nico berated. "Let it go!" he demanded. "You cannot fight popular opinion and all of society."

"But—"

"I said let. It. Go," Nico growled, his eyes trained on Percy. He had fought him only once before in an arena for practice, and they had called a truce before things could get out of control. In all honesty, Nico thought Percy would win if it really came to it. He was older, taller, stronger, but Nico was faster. His small frame made him nimble and quick.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Percy cautiously said, but he didn't drop his sword, his arm still outstretched in defense.

"Then why would you grab your sword?" Nico accused, infuriated, mostly at himself for letting his stupid secret slip, for being this way.

"Because Will was getting aggravated!" Percy argued. "I didn't know what he'd do!"

Nico laughed, but it was hollow. "Will would _never_ hurt you. You and I both know that."

"How am I supposed to know that?" Percy spat. "I don't even _know_ him, and apparently I don't even know _you!_ And you don't even know me."

Nico faltered. It hurt more than he had anticipated. "You do! You've been there since the _beginning,_ Percy. This changes _nothing._ "

"Everyone calm down," Malcolm tried, his chest heaving in fear at how quickly things were escalating. He reached out to soothe Percy, but Percy shrugged him off.

Will tried to force Nico to let go of his sword, but Nico brushed him away. This was between him and Percy.

"No, you idiot!" Percy was exasperated and frustrated.

"Percy!" Malcolm barked, enraged and horrified by Percy's rude outburst. Will's mouth fell open at Percy's hostile tone, and his expression slowly twisted into irritation. He went to pull Nico back again, but Nico stubbornly pushed him away.

Percy dropped his sword to the floor, though, and Nico stared at him in surprise, shocked by how easily Percy would surrender. "You don't know me at all!" he snapped. "You don't know me because if you did, you would've just _told_ me."

"How—!" Nico stopped himself from screaming back out of habit when Percy's words slammed into him as he comprehended it. Nico lowered his sword, looking up at the Calbourne in complete and utter confusion. "If I just… if I what?" He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He stood up straight, considering the boy in front of him.

"If you'd just told me," Percy repeated, sighing now. Malcolm put one hand on his shoulder, holding him away from Nico. "Don't you know me at all?" he emptily voiced. "Sure, it's… it's not what I expected," Percy truthfully admitted. His eyes flickered between him and Will. "But you're my friend, no matter what."

Nico blinked at him, at a loss for words. He dumbly stared at him.

"And I'm… I'm learning anew," Percy explained, clearing his throat. "I'm not my father." Silence lingered around them all at his quiet admission. It was what they thought but never said. It was implied. It was as depressing as it was absolving. Percy, however, continued without another falter.

"Democracy is a new thing for me, as it is for you. Annabeth," he chuckled humorlessly, "she's the one who brought us all together." Malcolm dropped his head at her name. " _She_ instilled democracy in us, and the Amazon and Canadian ideals. "Homosexuality is new too, and it isn't a sin," Percy breathed, testing the words on his tongue, and it felt like a breath of fresh air for Nico. "And I know I've been taught differently, just like you." He nodded at Nico. "And you," he whispered, glancing at Malcolm. Will pressed his lips together in quiet understanding. "But with our countries, we grow too. And this shall grow too," he murmured.

Percy lifted his head, seeking Nico's gaze desperately. They locked eyes. "I've learned a lot through the years," Percy began, and Nico felt like they were the only two in the room. "And as tough of a pill as it is to swallow, I've learned that the royals weren't always right. It's hard to know the father I idolized, and the life I so desperately wanted to live up to are both half-lies. But with the new knowledge, I also know that some of their values are hateful, and I don't agree with them anymore. I'm thinking for myself."

Nico's heart squeezed painfully. 'Me too,' he mouthed, and Percy laughed a little, smiling easily at Nico like he used to when they were younger. That was the very smile that had caused Nico to fall in love with him in the first place, and even though he didn't feel that way anymore, it still made Nico's chest clench.

"It's strange for me; I won't lie," Percy conceded. "But nothing you do or say could ever make you less in my eyes. Okay?" Percy's voice was gentle, hesitant. "I just wish you'd told me. I wish you'd trusted me enough to know that our bond is stronger than royal ideals."

"The royal ideals are what threw you and Annabeth into exilation," Nico pointed out. "It is proven to be enough to tear people apart."

Percy shook his head. "But we're not my step-mother. We're not Medusa." Percy spat her name like it tasted disgusting in his mouth. "We're more progressive, and I love you a whole lot more than Medusa ever was capable of, the evil witch. You're like a brother to me."

There was a lump in Nico's throat. "Shut up." Percy would make him cry, and then he would have to _murder_ him.

Percy smiled, but it resembled a grimace. "How bad would you kill me if I hugged you?"

"I'll murder you in cold blood," Nico threatened in affirmation. "Chop you up into little pieces until your stupid face is unrecognizable." He cleverly alluded to the Greek myths.

"I'll take my chances." Percy pulled him into a bear-hug, and it was odd because they weren't _supposed_ to show affection, but Percy was comforting and warm and everything Nico missed so badly. Nico felt reluctantly tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, and he blinked desperately to make the teardrops disappear back into his eyes. He had been so afraid, more than he would ever admit. He couldn't lose Percy either. He'd lost too many. Percy's acceptance was the greatest gift he could've ever asked for, and he knew Percy would be slightly uncomfortable for some time until he truly came to terms with it, but he was trying, and Nico appreciated it.

"We should probably check out the siren now," Nico quietly mentioned. Will put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him.

"First—" Malcolm interrupted, reaching out to hold Nico back and examine him. Nico flinched back, but he allowed Malcolm to touch him. "Any friend of Annabeth's is a friend of mine," said Malcolm, looking down at him seriously. "I agree with Percy. It's not familiar to me, but I'm willing to learn. You're more than your orientation," Malcolm comforted.

Nico was trying his damndest not to cry now. Malcolm too? He wanted to hug Will and just breathe and love life like he never had before. Nico nodded stiffly, veiling his emotions carefully.

"Now the siren." Malcolm eagerly turned to the creature. "Will, if you'll do the honors."

"Gladly." Will made a small incision before neatly cutting across her chest to open her up. "Oh, and I'm gay too," he announced cheerily. Nico figured it was because he found joy in cutting people open. Oh, and he was crazy. _His_ crazy. Nico rolled his eyes.

Percy gestured to the siren. "Then by all means. Her nakedness is not something I'd like to see."

Malcolm grinned at him begrudgingly, and Percy stifled a laugh in response. Some of Malcolm's mannerisms were so similar to his sister's that it was uncanny. They even smiled the same way, no teeth showing, just their lips stretched across their faces, their eyes lighting up with humor.

The air was lighter now, filled with understanding and love, and Nico was content to sit back with Percy and allow Will to work his way through the thick flesh, Malcolm writing out notes as they worked.

"I'm thinking a minotaur next," Percy commented next to him, sipping on some water. He must've been tired after fighting the siren. His hair was still shiny with dampness.

Nico hummed in agreement, his eyes trained on Will and the adorable expression of concentration on his face. "Just for the record, I would've kicked your ass in a swordfight."

Percy scoffed. "No way."

"Way."

"We'll settle this later," Percy decided. "In the arena back at the Amazon base."

Nico sheathed his sword, accepting the water Percy offered. "You're on."

"So is Will really a friend or…?" Percy inquired casually, and Nico shot him a withering glare. Percy held his hands up in surrender.

"I swear to _god,_ Jackson…"

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth hated how much she loved the gold dress. The sleeves were short and sheer, hugging her lean muscles, baring the biting chains around her wrists to the world. Luke had arranged it purposefully, she had no doubt, had wanted to advertise that she was nothing more than a prisoner: a valuable, numb prisoner. But even with her lack of freedom on display, she adored the lustrous fabric. Luke, she had noticed, liked to order for her to be in gold when she would be casted under the royal eye, like he wanted to remind his allies and enemies of all she stood for.

The fabric dipped at her chest, exposing her smooth collarbone. The 'L' stuck out like a sore thumb. There was no other jewelry save for her earrings, only the shiny collar choker around her neck, but the maids had dressed her up for show. She was a puppet, after all. Her eyelids shimmered with gold, as did her cheekbones, and above her eyebrows and down her neck trailed painted and pasted gold leaves. Heavy sun earrings dangled from her earlobes, a gold phoenix curled around the outer cartilage.

Annabeth hadn't been this dressed up since _the_ ball. That could only mean one thing: today was important. The familiar dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.

She resisted the urge to tear the dress to shreds as she had done with so many others time and time again. She didn't want to be a puppet; she only wore these riches on her own time, in her own castle, with her own freedom. Besides, he would just send the maids scurrying about for a new one. Annabeth wasn't cruel enough to punish the staff for this insanity.

She sat nervously on the ground near Luke's throne, the heels clicking against the floor under the sleek floor-length skirt as she tapped her foot. She itched to fiddle with something, but there was nothing. No rings, no necklaces, no bracelets, nothing to ease her tension.

"Guard Haven."

It wasn't a question. It was never a question when Luke spoke. The clinking of glasses and calculated voices died to a dull whisper before falling silent entirely. They were drinking for his wedding, waiting for Annabeth to go live on camera, to say his words for him. A few intrusive eyes landed on her, including the mysterious Katie Gardner—with her brown hair, jade-green eyes with chocolate rings around the irises, and tan skin—Luke was to be wed to, but most were on the guard. It was Annabeth's only respite that here, in this cage Luke had built her, she was shielded from the eyes of all else. She was safe, in a strange way. Not safe from him, but everyone else. No one would dare touch her when Luke had claimed her for his own with the collar around her neck. The metal felt cold now against her thin, weakened skin.

"My King," Kitty managed through gritted teeth. "I found this intruder sneaking through the aqueducts a few hours ago." With the flick of her wrist, Kitty uncovered the black cloth shielding the hostage before the royal court.

Luke had brought her here to issue a public statement. And she would. He had given her guards a piece of paper last night, and handwritten were the loopy letters of a speech, a speech he willed her to memorize. Just the idea of saying words in front of cameras that were not hers made her sick to her stomach, but she was forced to play her part, the pawn as always.

The hostage was not who she had expected, however.

"Hylla," Annabeth heard herself gasp. The young woman dared look up, eyes wide and familiar but not scared. Annabeth remembered being recruited by her sister Reyna, remembered meeting her, remembered seeing her under Percy's torture in that cell where Zoe had died so long ago. She was a _general._ What on earth was she doing here, captured by Luke's people? A sickening feeling thrummed through Annabeth's veins. She could only assume Hylla had come to save her, a month after her initial imprisonment, whether by Amazon orders or by her own free will or Percy's insistence—the Amazons were surely keeping him from coming to her rescue himself; he was far too valuable—Annabeth didn't know.

Annabeth would've ran to embrace her if that were remotely possible.

Instead, she fell to her knees, her hands latching onto Luke's wrist. She begged like she had only once before, her lungs full of ash and cold air, her head still spinning from the controlled crash of a jet.

The dress ripped along a seam. It was not for kneeling, not like her.

"Please, Luke. Don't kill her," Annabeth asked of him, gulping at air, grasping at whatever she could to save Hylla's life. "She can be used; she is valuable."

He pushed her away, his palm against her brand. "She is a spy in my court. Aren't you?"

Still Annabeth begged, speaking before Hylla's smart mouth could get her well and truly killed. And for once, she hoped the cameras were still watching.

"She has been betrayed, lied to, misled by the Amazons. It's not her fault!" Annabeth lied. It was the essence of the speech Luke had written for her anyways.

The King did not condesend to stand, not even for a murder at his feet. Annabeth tasted bitter, metallic blood, blood she could only assume was her own. He was afraid to leave his throne, to make a decision beyond its circle of empty comfort and safety. "The rules of war are clear. Spies are to be dealt with swiftly."

"When you are sick, who do you blame?" Annabeth demanded. "Your body or the disease?"

He glared down at her, and Annabeth felt hollow. "You blame the cure that didn't work."

"Luke, I am begging you…" Annabeth didn't remember starting to cry, but of course she was. They were shameful tears because she wept for herself as well as Hylla. This was the beginning of a rescue. This was for her. Hylla was her chance.

Her vision blurred, fogging the edge of her sight. Kronos raised a sword, eager to dive into what Hylla knew, to interrogate her. Annabeth wondered how devastating this would be to the Amazons—and how stupid they were to this. What a risk, what a waste.

"Ascend. For gold and glory," Hylla muttered, spitting.

She threw an image into the air, albeit a crumpled image. It was a face they all recognized.

Kronos fell back a half step, surprised, while Luke gave a strangled sort of cry.

Medusa stared back at them from the paper, a living ghost. Her face was mangled, destroyed by blades. One eye was gone, the other bloodshot with vile red. Her mouth curled into an inhuman sneer. It triggered terror in the pit of Annabeth's stomach, though she knew Medusa was dead. She knew Piper killed her.

It was a clever ploy, buying Hylla enough time to raise a hand to her lips, to swallow.

Annabeth had seen suicide pills before. Even though she quickly shut her eyes, she knew what came next.

It was better than what Kronos would have done. And her secrets stay secrets. Forever.


	29. Knight In Slightly Rusted Armor

**Annabeth**

She wished Luke had some version of mind-reading powers, just so he could have looked into her head and seen exactly what kind of ending she gave his mother. She wanted him to feel the pain of loss as terribly as she did.

Luke's eyes locked on her as he finished his memorized speech, one hand outstretched to better display the chain binding her to him. Every he did was methodical, performed for an image.

"I pledge myself to do the same, to end the Amazons and the monsters like Annabeth Chase, or die in the attempt."

 _Die, then,_ Annabeth wanted to scream.

The roar of the crowd drowned out her thoughts. Hundreds cheered on their King and his tyranny. She had cried on the walk onto the stage, grieving both Hylla and what Luke was aiming for, all in the face of so many blaming her for their loved ones' deaths. So this was what he wanted: to convince the world he was genuine. She could still feel the tears drying on her cheeks. Now she wanted to sob again, not in sadness, but anger. How could they believe this? How could they stomach these lies?

She too had been forced to speak a speech, written carefully for her by Luke. She had memorized it easily, horrified by what he was asking for. ' _Your generous King promises to take in all Amazons and Canadians and citizens who seek shelter from us terrorists. He will save you.'_ She had felt sick to her stomach, speaking Luke's wishes to convey his refuge for the public. Worst of all, she had cried, over Hylla of course, but it had only sold her the image of terrorism and inhumane Amazons more than anything else.

It was his new tactic, she realized, to get the people on his side. And most blindly believed him, the fools. She could only imagine how she, the symbol and face of the Amazons, was ruining the image, saying lies against her own corporation out of force. Her stomach twisted uneasily.

Like a doll, she was turned from the sight. With the last of her strength, Annabeth craned her neck over one shoulder, hunting for the cameras, the eyes of the world. _See me,_ she begged. _See how he lies._ Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrow, painting what she prayed was a picture of resilience, rebellion, and rage. It felt like a lie. She was dead in every sense except for the merciful end. But it was the last thing she could do for the cause, and for the people she loved still out there. They would not see her stumble in this final moment. No, she would stand. And thought she had no idea how, she had to keep fighting, even here in the belly of the beast.

Another tug forced Annabeth to spin around to face the court. Cold royals stared back, their veins of steel and diamond rather than blood. They focused not on her, but on Luke himself. In them Annabeth found her answer. In them she saw hunger.

For a split second, Annabeth pitied the Boy King alone on his throne. Then, deep down, she felt the teasing breath of hope.

_Oh, Luke. What a mess you're in._

She could only wonder who would strike first.

The Amazons—or the Lords and Ladies ready to slit Luke's throat and take everything his mother died for.

…

"So _you're_ the Ashington."

Annabeth blinked through teary eyes, peering at emerald, unfamiliar eyes. The stranger smiled, her teeth pointy at the corners, and Annabeth folded into herself, uncomfortable to be so closely scrutinized by a random woman. She didn't allow for strangers to get this close, for them to see into her deepest, darkest fears. Only this wasn't a stranger.

Annabeth's breath hitched in recognition. "Lady Gardner."

Katie's brown hair was swept into a dazzling swirl atop her head, delicate jewelry sinking in around the smooth curves of her neck. She tilted her head to one side, a half-smile etched into her expression, but there was something cold in her face, like she knew exactly what she was doing, like she knew everyone would underestimate a foreigner, like she knew much more than all of them combined. It rubbed Annabeth the wrong way.

This was the young woman to whom Luke was to be wed. Annabeth found herself at a loss for words. If Luke thought marrying Katie was the easy choice, he was sorely mistaken. There was something about Katie, something undeniably clever that made Annabeth feel as though Luke had finally met his match.

"It's an honor, Lady Chase," Katie articulated, almost as if it were practiced. Annabeth neatly folded her lithe fingers, acutely aware of Katie's sweeping glance on the manacles. The gaze burned like fire. The blonde found herself frowning at a moment's notice. _Lady?_ No one had referred to her as such since before she betrayed her family for the Amazons. She was no longer a woman of the court, and no one would dare remember her old position in the collective effort to shun her from her old lifestyle.

"Is it?" Annabeth quipped, eyeing her suspiciously.

Katie's mouth straightened. "You every right to be wary," she acknowledged, "but I promise I was merely curious. I've heard so much about you, as I'm sure you know."

"News travels fast?" Annabeth guessed.

"Even to the UK," Katie agreed.

"Hmm." It wasn't really a reply, but it was all Annabeth could muster. "I'll be there at the wedding this evening," Annabeth told her. _Not like it's my choice._

Katie's pink lips curved up, but the distaste in her face was evident. She confirmed Annabeth's line of thinking—she hadn't really wanted to marry Luke—in just a miniscule shift of expressions. There were half-moon crescents, a pale red, in Annabeth's flesh when she loosened her tightly clasped hands at her abdomen: an admittance of nervousness, of anxiety, and a weakness—Annabeth smoothly slipped her hands behind her back, hoping to hide them.

Katie's eyes darted down to the 'L' on her neck, then back up to Annabeth's face. Annabeth had no doubt Katie and her house had a few tricks up their sleeves. There was no way they would simply agree to join forces with Luke, especially not if Katie seemed so disgusted.

This weird, old part of her wanted to warn Luke before she remembered who she was, and who he was now, and why she was here in the first place. Annabeth bit her tongue before she could say anything she'd regret.

She could feel eyes burning holes in her back, and sensing it was Drew, Annabeth took it as the opportunity to politely excuse herself.

"It was nice to meet you," Annabeth emptily remarked.

"Likewise." Katie generously gestured to Annabeth. "I'll see you at the wedding," she decided.

"Yes," Annabeth whispered, looking at her oddly one last time. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

**Piper**

"We can't," Thalia argued. Reyna sat close to her, dark circles under her eyes. "We can't afford another mission. Look what happened to Hylla."

"My sister made her choices," Reyna murmured, shaking her head. "Now we make ours."

Piper's mouth went dry. "We _need_ Annabeth to retract her speech, and she can't do it with Luke, the bastard, hovering over her every move and word," she quietly seethed. "We'll lose the momentum we've built; people will trust Luke over us, will go to him, not us, and we'll sacrifice even more numbers than we already have. It will be a losing battle."

Reyna shook her head, covering her face with her hands, deeply exhausted. A sting of sympathy nestled its way into Piper's heart. Thalia's forehead creased with concern, her hand warm on Reyna's shoulder as she comforted the General.

"You don't have to be here for this," Piper gently reminded Reyna, who stiffly shook her head no.

"I'm quite alright," Reyna croaked, her eyes hardening. Piper could see through the weak facade like it was glass, but she said nothing of the matter, granting Reyna her wish. She would not unnecessarily put all eyes on her, especially not after the death of her only and much beloved older sister, another devoted General of their multi-decade cause.

"I will follow you into battle," Reyna vowed when people watched her anyways, eyeing her reaction as she fell apart carefully. Thalia subtly stood in front of the General, shielding her from the intrusive, inquisitive stares of their comrades and friends.

"I appreciate that," said Piper, biting her lip guiltily.

"It _is_ your call," Thalia told her, staring her down.

Piper shuffled the plans Percy had drawn up for her before he left with Will and Nico for Malcolm, for Epresh. She wasn't really studying the papers, more so buying herself time, but she tried her best to seem invested.

"I think it's a good idea," Piper decided, watching as the faces of her friends hardened into battle warriors. She prayed she was right, she prayed they would not lose more. "It will be worth it to rebrand our reputation, to shake the enemy at the core, at the heart of all they've built."

"Last time we did that, half of us died," Gwen pointed out. Thalia glared at her, supportive of the brunette. Piper was grateful.

"When do we leave?" Thalia tried instead. Reyna had closed her eyes, leaning back against the cream column. Piper couldn't help but wonder where she went when she shut out the world like that. Thalia pressed her lips tightly together, not subtle at all as she kept checking on Reyna out of the corner of her bright blue eyes. Eyes that pained Piper every time she saw them.

"Two days from now. Dawn," Piper announced. "We want to show up in the daylight, let them know we do not fear them."

Gwen frowned.

"We are not cowards," Piper addressed the crowd. Some seemed to agree… others, not so much.

"But we are not fools either," Gwen protested.

"Which is why we must be victorious, or the plan fails more than waiting like sitting ducks," Piper quipped, her mind made up. "Send Perseus and the others a message, please. Let him know of what I've concluded."

Gwen scowled. "I'll get on it immediately."

"Anyone who disagrees can leave right now," Thalia bit out, disgusted by the blank expressions on her friends' faces. "She is Queen, and she will lead us to victory."

Rachel stood up. "All in favor." A chorus of 'ayes' echoed through the democrats. The Canadians were on board. It eased Piper's anxiety, if only by a little.

…

The torch burned brightly as they sent a small boat full of flowers out into the stream in symbolism of Hylla.

Reyna spoke in Latin, wishing her sister goodbye. " _Ave atque vale,"_ she whispered, and the whole base muttered it among themselves, the lights illuminating the stream.

" _Peccavimus Domino: ascendemus et gloria auri,_ " Thalia repeated, and a few others echoed after her, chiming in at different times so that the message would be eternal.

Reyna leaned on Thalia for support, and Piper quietly watched the board float upstream, carried by the gentle current of the water until it disappeared just out of sight.

They left the fires burning all night.

* * *

**Annabeth**

Annabeth blankly stared at the leaves turning brown, the wind turning cold outside. She had long lost track of her time captured, but based off the weather she could only assume it was nearing September, meaning she had been here for nearly three months. That was three months too many.

She had been practicing walking, slowly and steadily trying to maintain some semblance of strength. She would not want the autumn air to blow her over if she got out. No— _when_ she got out. She had been saving pieces of the broken shards of the china she shattered too, keeping them as some semblance of makeshift weapons.

She had grown immune to Drew's presence by now. Well, nearly. The maids were nothing more than busy bees of whom Annabeth paid no attention. Perhaps that's why she felt odd turning around to see who had opened the door behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she knew with certainty that her visitor was not her usual visitor.

The snake's son.

"You think I'll be the black sky, so you can be a star?" she demanded, her voice soft. She paused. "I'll swallow you whole." They should've been angry words—she _was_ angry at him, after all; she always was—but her words lacked their usual malice.

He was quiet. It seemed Luke only reserved his odd silence and kindness—if you could even call _not_ killing her kindness—for her. Annabeth slouched against the cool bars, turning to look at him. She arched a sardonic brow.

"Try me," he challenged, but he was tired too. "You have no weapons on you." Her guards filed out of the room out of habit. Luke always made sure it was just the two of them. At first, it had made her uneasy, but now it was her sole solace. She could say whatever she wanted to him. Almost. Or not.

"I don't need weapons."

"Going with just fists? That's a new one for you," he drawled.

Annabeth glared at him. "It's not as if you're armed either." He never was. It was unnerving.

Luke glanced out the window she had been so entranced by only moments before. "My tongue is my weapon."

Annabeth swallowed hard. She had seen firsthand what he could do with his voice, and she had good reason to be afraid. They all did.

"You're terrible," Annabeth roughly told him, angry by his mere presence. "You—you come here, and you think you own the world, but you don't. You're a monster. And someone will stop you."

Luke didn't flinch once, accepting her blows as truths he already knew to be true. "Do monsters make war, or does war make monsters?" he contemplated.

Annabeth's breath caught in her lungs. "I hate mind games."

Luke chuckled humorlessly, but his eyes flashed cold. "Based on the way you brutally murdered my mother, I'd say that was a given."

"Who gave you that?" she found herself asking without any other inhabitations. There had been a long scar going down his face from his eye to his jaw for as long as she could remember.

Luke stiffened. "Who do you think?"

She hated the way he always asked questions, rather than simply choosing to answer or not to answer. He was a carbon copy of Medusa. She spat but missed on purpose. Luke was unfazed. She had tried to spit on him so many times that it was almost predictable at this point.

"Your mother," Annabeth guessed, pursing her lips.

Luke gave her a long look. "You know as well as I do that her scars are all internal."

Annabeth swallowed thickly.

"My brother, actually," Luke commented.

Annabeth took a step back. Percy would never. Percy adored Luke from the start. Percy was kind, forgiving, and much better than she deserved. He was the light out of the three of them, the angel with two demons sinking him down—Annabeth and Luke.

"Shocking, isn't it?" Luke half-grimaced at her. Annabeth schooled her expression, but she was afraid he had already read through her like she was translucent. To him, she supposed she was. And vice versa. "I had been around eight at the time, and we were training, and it was an accident, but that was that. It's marred my face for years. The healers said it was unhealable, at least completely."

Oh. Unwelcome pity surged through her for her captor. "The way I see it, it was well deserved," Annabeth bit out. "A scar to remind you that he is better than you in every way possible." Her eye's glittered, pleased when he bristled, letting his colors of anger shine through. She reveled in the power, however small.

"We swept out the left Amazon flank today," Luke bit back. He was just as immature as her, deep down. It didn't make her feel any better. Annabeth faltered. Luke would only ever tell her the truth now, and she had a sinking feeling now was not any different. That would mean… that would mean he killed at least four dozen people.

"No," she refused, her knuckles white around the bars. Tempting him was like poking a bear—he would only strike back harder, faster, sharper like a cobra, a King.

"Don't you see? You've lost. Give it up, Annabeth; it's over."

Annabeth gasped, her emotions numbing the searing pain. Perhaps it was the adrenaline or the pure fury in her, but she drew on some strength that was buried deep within her and when she opened her eyes, her piercing glare could have melted metal.

"I may have lost the battle," she admitted, her pride shattering on the cold ground of the cellar. It hurt to even say that; she had never been a graceful loser, and fortunately, because she was so ruthless, it was a rare feeling. Annabeth pursed her lips, reaching out of the cool steel bars and grasped him by the front of his shirt. She pulled him forward—surprising them both with her strength—knocking him into hard surface and ignoring the biting metal cutting deep into her wrists.

"But trust me when I say, I _will_ win the war. And when you're on your knees in front of _me,_ suffering, begging for your pathetic life, for mercy, for a miracle, I will personally make sure that not _one_ person lifts a finger to help you. Not even the Gods themselves," she snarled, her knuckles turning white.

Luke's eyes widened fractionally and he hastily ripped himself out of her grip, stepping back cautiously. He desperately tried to conceal his fear, but, much to Annabeth's delight, he was standing a good couple feet further back than he had been initially. The blonde casually remained standing—a silent challenge of her own—not making one effort to fight the chains. She was not his prisoner. She was nobody's prisoner.

In fact, he was the real prisoner, contained in this cage of fear he'd built around himself. Her newfound strength was quickly fading, but because she refused to sit in front of him, to be lower than him, she instead leaned against the bars in fierce determination.

She had been here once before, but she would not kneel now, she would not fall to his feet so easily.

"Percy gave me this scar," Luke's voice chilled her to the bone. "But when I bury him," he threatened, "I'll _make_ you watch."

Annabeth faltered backwards. "Death would be less tortuous than this." It was a hollow laugh. "But you'll never get him. He'll always be better than you," she taunted. "And you'll always, _always_ be the shadow, no matter how you try. Why would anyone ever look to you when they have gold standing before them?"

Luke simmered, his fists clenching at his sides, but she refused to stop.

"Who would choose second place over first? Who would look to a wave when there's a storm nearby? Who would ever, _ever_ pick a monster over Perseus?" She knew how to twist the knife. Words were his power, but she could pain him like nobody else. Annabeth took satisfaction in hurting him like he had hurt her time and time again. "I would rather walk alone in complete darkness than follow _your_ shadow, Your Highness," Annabeth mocked.

Luke reached forward, pressing his thumb into her brand so hard that she nearly saw stars. Annabeth choked, involuntary reflex tears coming to tear ducts.

"You can't own me anymore," Annabeth croaked out. His fingers would leave purple bruises lining her throat for the next morning, but for now she soaked in the pain, a reminder than she was alive, no matter the extent of the suffering being alive required. "You can't own a rebellion, an _idea_ of freedom, a symbol. I'm not tangible, not anymore. I'm _bigger_ than this."

She mildly wondered if she looked as crazy as felt, tearing her sleeves to shreds with the manacles.

Luke's fury bounced off her. She was fire, and a shadow could not snuff a flame like hers. She was intangible as long as I wanted to be.

"Nobody will believe the shit you make me say and do. Because they know me; they _know_ me," Annabeth convinced herself. Everything her, but she summoned the last of her courage, determined not to go down without a fight. She was tired of being quiet. "You'll never have me."

She glared up at him, spitting at his feet. This time it landed on his shoes, and Luke stepped back, thoroughly disgusted.

"Not even when I'm _dead_."

* * *

**Malcolm**

"I've got it."

Nico was on his feet in an instant, looking at him with wide eyes. Percy, who had been looking out the window for some time now, was immediately on alert. He studied Malcolm's face, apprehensive.

"Do you really?" It was Will, scrutinizing the blue vial in his gloved hand. Malcolm tried to keep his hand still, slowly moving the safety glasses off his face. They clattered against the counter haphazardly.

"I think so," Malcolm affirmed, his voice quavering uncharacteristically. If this was really it, the antidote to Octavian's madness, then… then he'd have saved the world, quite possibly. "Percy, can you…?"

"On it," Percy interrupted, clumsily scraping at the freezer from the anticipation. Malcolm could feel the tension in the room rapidly rising. Nico began to plastic wrap the chalkboard, hoping to preserve Malcolm's chicken scratch math and diagrams. If this worked, they would need the recipe to recreate a thousand times more.

The Calbourne Prince struggled, and Nico rushed to his aid, helping him lift the heavy body. Together they practically slammed the preserved body onto the table. Will nimbly began to unwrap the minotaur. Percy had done his best to keep from mutilating the figure, but the minotaur was a tough one to beat, and Nico had nearly lost a hand in the encounter. As a result, the minotaur was missing one horn—Percy had left it on the counter a while ago—and its face was scarred, some of the heavy fur coat ripped off in patches. Will gingerly picked at the minotaur's plastic, revealing the stench of death and battle through the room. Percy took a step back.

"Tongs," Malcolm requested. Will quickly passed them over. "Glasses." Together, Will and him covered their eyes. The Ashington glanced up at Percy and Nico. They scuffled backwards in understanding; they were not wearing glasses, so it was for the best that they watch from afar. "Gloves." Will handed him another pair for a double layer and then protected his own scarred hands. "Drip tarp." Will spread out a plastic, crinkly, blueberry blue tarp around the body to catch the fluids. "Ice." Will shoved a package of uniform cubes over to him.

Malcolm lubed up the tough flesh of the minotaur, setting his vial down in the ice to cool it close to frozen. He carefully sliced open the minotaur's fat vein to expose the white blood. The white changed, mixing like a White Russian, only it was turning a robin's egg blue as Malcolm poured the antidote into the minotaur's bloodstream. Will was holding his breath next to him. Malcolm felt like he couldn't breathe at all.

Nothing happened. Frustrated, Malcolm reached for the papers again, covered from corner to corner, edge to edge in Annabeth's curly writing.

"Where's the original diagram?" Malcolm bit out, frowning. Nobody moved for a moment, and then Percy sprung into action, scanning Malcolm's board for the diagram he'd neatly redrawn. Malcolm observed it… what was he missing? There _had_ to be something. He'd checked Annabeth's math—she was exactly correct down to the hundred-thousandth decimal—which meant that only he had forgotten something.

"Heat," Malcolm realized. The square Annabeth had drawn next to the triangle was actually an _H._ Damn her for her unruly writing when she wrote too fast. Will handed over the bunsen burner without another thought. "How much?"

"There's just a bunch of dots," said Percy, squinting at her crumpled notes.

"A gas," Malcolm deciphered, his mind going a million times a second. "Twenty degrees celsius."

"This is America," Nico reminded him.

Malcolm chuckled. "Sixty-eight degrees fahrenheit," he translated, and Nico smiled to himself.

"That little fire is enough?" Will was doubtful, pointing to the burner.

"You'd be surprised. The center of that 'little fire' gets to about two thousand, seven hundred degrees fahrenheit."

Percy's went wide in surprise.

"Vial," Malcolm instructed. Will passed it along with the tongs once more. Malcolm poured more of the liquid into the bloodstream, holding a fire to it. The rotten smell of burning skin filled the room, and Percy went to open a window, but Malcolm could not care less. The blue mixed with the white once more, but instead of finding a happy medium, it was turning _red,_ red like the blood of a human being. A monster no longer.

Before their very eyes, the monster shifted to something else, a little girl with brown hair and a dead face. Malcolm resisted the urge to gag. Dead monsters and science, maybe, but dead people really weren't his thing. Nico gaped.

"That's wicked," Nico said what everyone was thinking. A stunned silence passed over them.

"She's a _genius_ ," Malcolm realized, looking away from the body. Octavian had poisoned corpses, resurrecting them into _monsters_ , and Annabeth had not only figured out how to poison them in the first place, but she had also figured out how to reverse it. Malcolm felt her now, even if she was thousands of miles from here, impressed by her ability to discover something otherworldly. The successful reversal kept the insanity of her capture at bay for now. He had always known she was smart, but this was something else. This was like a mini Athena and probably better, actually.

Percy stiffened at his words. The loss felt heavy over their heads.

"I miss her," it left Malcolm's mouth before he could say anything else. It was an obvious truth, but one he did not say out loud nonetheless. Nico soberly nodded in agreement. Will's shoulders slumped forward. Only Percy didn't move, his arms defensively crossed over his chest like he was cold or upset or both.

"I think she'd be proud of us, though," Malcolm murmured, and Will put a hand on his shoulder, comforting him in his loss. He was grateful. "And amused."

Percy looked at him curiously.

"At how long it took us to figure it out," Malcolmly sheepishly explained, cracking a smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

"That's not a surprise," Percy found his voice. "She might be better than us all combined."

Malcolm huffed out a gruff bark of laughter. "Might? _Is,"_ he corrected. "There's no doubt about it." They were quiet again.

"So," Malcolm began, carefully peeling his gloves off to reveal sweaty palms. "Is anyone going to move this girl, or do I have to throw up first."

"On it," Nico decided, reaching for a fresh pair of gloves to dispose of her properly, but before he could hoist the corpse off the counter, it began to dissolve. The four men watched, fascinated as it dissipated before their very eyes.

"How?" Will posed the question, blankly staring at the dustless spot before them.

Malcolm was quiet, and then he threw his hands up in exasperation. "Gods knows. Actually, Annabeth knows," he amended. "Her notes, please."

Percy wordlessly handed over the thick rolls of papers.

* * *

**Percy**

Percy was reminded of Annabeth's late-night rantings about the old wars as he stormed into the strategy shed.

Reyna was wide-eyed, her face flushed with anger. Piper was pale, and she looked up at him surprised.

"What the hell happened?" Percy demanded. "It's been barely an hour since we sent the first jets out." They were launching the first of a long battle, deciding to go with Piper's decision to fight in the heart of the war and tear the royals apart from inside out. With the Europeans on Luke's side, they were stronger than ever, but Malcolm had scoured together a small army as backup.

"Thalia just messaged," Reyna informed him. Thalia was in Sumisu, forcing the Rayas to surrender. The Rayas had exposed themselves as enemies of Luke and weak from fighting two wars, they had fallen from a height like no other. "Queen Silena surrendered, but in the battle…"

"King Charles is dead," Piper interrupted. She visibly deflated in front of Percy. "His death pretty much sealed the end of the Rayas." She spoke as if they weren't her relatives. Percy was only all too familiar with the feeling.

"And?" Percy fought the disappointment. He hadn't known Beckendorf all too well, but he had known Silena and him were truly in love, perhaps the only royals who married not for public appearances, but for love. It made his heart feel heavy. They could've changed the world, and around them their world burned.

"Silena's asked for you," Piper whispered.

"Me?" Percy could not disguise his shock. He hardly knew Silena at all. He hadn't seen her since he was at least eleven. And Athena's ball that started this all, of course. "Why?" Percy sputtered.

"She wants to talk to you, but that's all she'll say. Something about ruling."

Percy went cold all over. "Tell her no," he bit out.

"Percy," Piper interrupted. "She always wanted you to be King. You know this. It's no surprise she wants to see why you left in the first place as her country cedes to fight back."

"I don't care. I can't do it. I can't go back to Sumisu, not now. I have to go with the fifth legion to

Thasite in less than half an hour. I'd rather steel myself for how I'm going to get Annabeth out."

Piper nodded in understanding. "Okay. Leave now, actually. Don't wait."

The screen behind her beeped with an alert. Reyna rushed to pick it up, recognizing Thalia's icon. "Thalia," Reyna said, and there was a dampened voice speaking quickly over the receiver. A recording, most likely.

"I'm leaving now," Percy assured Piper, his heart thumping out of his chest. This was it. She'd be there. He hadn't seen her in so long.

Percy unsheathed Riptide, practically running out of the room. _I'm coming, Wise Girl._ He could only hope Luke wouldn't see him. He wasn't sure what he'd do if he had to face his brother, and he wasn't sure he wanted to imagine that reality any way it went.

* * *

**Annabeth**

When she first saw him, she thought she was dreaming. It wasn't far from the usual truth—she had dreamt of him enough times that it was warranted.

Annabeth clumsily pulled a shard of glass—one of her mined treasures from shattering all that china—out from its concealed spot under her dress. She had carried it with her everywhere for days, and it momentarily granted her peace of mind, but there wasn't much she could do with a stub of sharp glass on her own. All and any attempts to murder her way out would be shut down. She was hopelessly and completely alone in this cage.

Until now.

Part of her was pissed at him, pissed at everyone. They had left her for months together. It was probably November or October as far as she was concerned, though she had certainly lost track long ago. Part of her was relieved, was strong, was reminded of his rescuing her from Octavian what felt like ages ago. Part of her was angry, ready to fight. She had been waiting for this moment for so long she had thought it would never come, and here it was.

Percy was tanner than she remembered and more muscular. There was a healthy glow to him, as if he had been training extra hard. She had no doubt he had. He, like his brother, had an obsessive personality. He must have drilled himself overtime in the wake of absence. Or perhaps she simply hadn't been all that important at all. Annabeth shut down the thought as quickly as it came.

The last piece of her was triumphant. It was freeing in itself to watch the Amazons and Canadians and Malcolm's recruits and _all_ of these men and women—we the fucking people—come together like a whirlwind of gold and blood and anger. _Use that anger. Channel it into something greater than yourself._ A reminder she had replayed over and over again through her mind surfaced now, reminding her of all she had fought so desperately for.

Percy hadn't seen her yet. He was barking out orders, his now unruly, grown-out hair falling into his eyes. It might've been her imagination, but he seemed impossibly taller too. And then his eyes were on her.

Annabeth was aware of the people whizzing past her in blurs of white and gold and red and black, but she couldn't see them, not when he was standing there in front of her, albeit yards away.

His mouth was pressed in a hard line, and something akin to relief and recognition overtook him.

If this was a movie, she would've ran to him, flung herself into his arms, and kissed him something fierce, but this wasn't a movie, and she wasn't the damsel in distress he would sweep off her feet. A large figure stepped in front of her, and she had thrown the glass before even processing it, the deadly point fatally lodging into the man's chest, forcing him to keel over, blood spurting out of his mouth like a mini fountain.

Percy was at her side in an instant, tossing her a dagger without another word. It wasn't _her_ dagger, but it was still familiar in her grip. He cracked his sword against the metal around her wrists, absolving her from restraints; she had forgotten what it was like to be without he manacles, and when they clanged against the throne room's marble floor, something in her chest unlocked.

Wordlessly, they fought back to back, as if they had practiced their entire lives. They had, of course. They had been molded into the leaders they were today by parents who had not loved them, and if this was the biggest show of their lives, they would go down fighting.

…

Annabeth braced herself against the wall, fatigued by about half an hour of battling. Percy patiently waited by her, but she was only frustrated with herself, frustrated she was slowing them down. It was to be expected of course—she had been entrapped for so long—but it did not make the disappointment any less.

"How many?" Annabeth groaned. "How many did he get?"

"From your speech?"

Annabeth cringed, silently begging him to understand. She had not written the words, simply been forced to parrot them back for Luke. She nodded solemnly.

"At least two dozen."

Annabeth's mouth fell open. "But… but why?" Her fists balled up at her sides. Why did Luke want the people on his side? It was clear he didn't care for them. Even a blind bat could see that; unfortunately, the delusional, ignorant people seemed to buy into Luke's words, no matter how obvious it seemed to an analyst like her.

Percy cursed, dragging her by the arm when a few of Luke's soldiers rounded the corner. She ran despite her complaining body.

"He's hunting people not to protect his throne but to hurt you. To find _you._ To make you come back to him." His fist clenched on his thigh.

Percy quickly pushed her out the door before following. Annabeth had not touched grass in so long, and saw the trees from so close, and been under the blue sky. She was overtaken by the overwhelming urge to cry. Percy, noticing her distress, sympathetically paused, allowing her a moment to take in her surroundings. He silently implored her to understand with his expression, understand that the Amazons had forced him to not come rescue her. He was one of the few pilots they had left, far too valuable, and his feelings had no place in war. Annabeth would address it later. For now, she simply basked in the sunlight, patiently anticipating Percy's next words.

"Luke wants you more than anything else on this Earth," the dark-haired man finally finished, deciding not to say what he had been thinking.

She wished that Luke was here now, perhaps for the first time ever, just so she could rip out his horrible, haunting eyes. "Well, he can't have me." Annabeth realized the consequences of this, and so did Percy.

"Not even if it stopped the killing? Not for the wars?"

Tears bit her eyes. "I won't go back. For anyone."

She expected his judgement, but instead he smiled and ducked his head. Ashamed of his own reaction, as she was of hers.

A siren wailed in the distance, spiking Annabeth's heartbeat. Her head snapped up to Percy: he was her only sense of information as of now.

"It's begun," he hollowly muttered.

"What's begun?"

Percy wordlessly strung his arm in hers, pulling her just out from the corner of the wall. Annabeth's mouth dropped open.

In front of her _hundreds_ of people fought. Half were unmistakably Luke's army, dressed head to toe in white and blue. It was a heart of the wars, all of them conglomerating here on Thasite's land. Surely, there was still fighting at all the borders, the borders creeping in different directions as the Amazons conquered more and more land, forcing enemies to surrender, but she had never been on the front lines of the war, never really seen them with her own eyes. But… how? How were there so many people on their side? Luke had murdered so many on that plane before capturing her.

She gaped up at Percy, the question obvious in her face.

Percy grinned, and she felt warm all over, still not quite exempt from his charming features, even after all she'd learned about him, and all she'd been through. "Malcolm. He talked his way to the top."

"Where is he?"

"He's here. Somewhere," Percy promised her. "Probably closer to the northern borders. He'll be securing the Jirot borders with Nico, if all's going well."

Annabeth's heart pounded. _Nico._ She weakly smiled despite herself.

"And the others?" she hesitantly inquired.

"Reyna's here in Thasite. She's leading the center squad that raided the castle." He glanced around, twirling his sword between his forefingers. "Thalia's probably negotiating with the Rayas right now. I _knew_ they were backstabbers; I just _knew_ —"

"The Rayas?" Annabeth stared at him, wide-eyed, and hopeful for the first time in years.

"I bet on the Rayas to be betrayers. And I was right." Percy allowed himself a smug grin.

"They didn't." Disbelief flooded her voice.

"They did. They surrendered. They revealed themselves against Luke, and they couldn't fight him and the Amazons at the same time. We conquered Sumisu only days before."

Annabeth's cheeks hurt from grinning so hard. Things were finally coming up Amazon. "And the English? Katie's married Luke," she reminded him.

Percy's expression soured. "And they have been loyal so far, sending troops to help him out, but hopefully he'll still be outnumbered, or at least even now. We've leveled the battlefield. The Amazons, the Canadians, the Pevanshires, the Ashingtons, and with the Rayas out of the way, all against the English and… the King of Thasite." He said it like he didn't know Luke anymore, which he didn't, but Annabeth still caught the hesitance and shakiness in his voice.

"Do you think we'll win?" she asked, her voice going soft, nervous, afraid, unsure.

Percy sobered. "I don't know, but like I said, it's finally a fair fight. We have a _chance_ , Annabeth, and maybe with luck on our side, we'll win."

The wars had been going on for at least eleven months now, but they had considerably conglomerated, people taking sides, leaving only two left.

"Do you want me to take you to Malcolm?" Percy asked, breaking her from her stunned stupor.

"No," Annabeth said without pausing. "He's busy, and you're needed here." She gestured to Rachel, who had noticed him and had gestured for him to come over to where she was. Will, Annabeth saw, was bandaging Hazel off in the middle of battle. She had not let go of her sword, though, still the stubborn fighter Annabeth remembered and admired. "I will see him soon enough when this over," Annabeth promised, allowing herself a shred of implied hope. _When._ This would end, and it would end _well._

"You can fight?" Percy queried.

She nodded stubbornly. "I'm not completely useless yet. He hasn't taken it from me yet." _He_ lingered over them awkwardly, her mention of Luke uncomfortable, a barrier between the both of them.

"Okay," was all he said, and he darted off to Rachel, who was relaying information at the speed of light. Thalia had messaged. The Rayas had given in entirely. Drew had disappeared somewhere, as had a few more of her relatives, but they were still searching for her whereabouts.

Annabeth studied the strategies laid out near Rachel's arm as Percy and the redhead conversed about matters she did not understand anymore. The maps were drawn in that shaky, albeit precise handwriting she was so familiar with. It was always like this when he drew fast. In her absence, _Percy_ had planned out their strategies. Signed at the bottom was Piper's name. Bewildered, she looked up, only to find Percy hovering over her shoulder expectantly.

"McLean?"

Percy blanked, realizing she didn't know. "She has to sign it off," he explained.

"But the _Queen_ always…" Annabeth's mouth went dry. No way.

"You missed a lot while you were gone," Percy voiced, gauging her reaction as he spoke. "Piper was chosen as Queen."

…

Percy had disappeared somewhere with Frank, who had been holding a rack of weapons fit to serve a mini army. He was never too far, she knew as well—she doubted he would leave her stranded after finding her in the state she was currently in—but she had gone in search of Malcolm, hoping for her brother to give her tasks.

She fought as she went, sometimes seeking the shelter of the sides of the castle, avoiding the explicit bloodshed when she ran out of energy, and sometimes cutting down every soldier in her path with the viciousness of a hungry tiger. She stepped over the corpses of people without blinking an eye. For those of her own side, sometimes she'd cover their eyes with their golden bandanas if nobody was around to cut her down when she wasn't looking, but she walked past the royals and Luke's armies of faceless men without another glance. Recognizing a face would only shake her confidence, and she didn't need that shit right then.

"Annabeth!"

The blonde spun around, blades slashing around her. She ducked, only a lock of her hair drifting to the ground.

"Piper? Piper!" Annabeth hadn't seen her face in so long, and she sort of wanted to collapse into a pathetic heap of prisoner and sob for herself, for Jason, for Malcolm, for Percy, for freedom, for a optimistic, brighter future.

Piper was squeezing her in a crushing hug before she knew it. Annabeth's sleeve went damp with Piper's tears.

Annabeth pushed Piper's hair out of her dirt and blood-streaked face, gazing at her friend with so much love and relief and _pride._ "You're _Queen_ ," Annabeth half-sob, half-laughed.

Piper was crying quietly, where only sporadic hiccups escaped her lips, her nose pink like an adorable bunny. Piper was one of the few people Annabeth knew who was still flawless, even in tears. The brunette pulled her back into a hug, wincing at how skinny and weak Annabeth had gotten.

"Who gives a fuck?" Piper cried, sniffling. "I'm so glad you're okay." 'Okay' was an exaggeration. They shared a look of understanding; Annabeth had witnessed more suffering, both firsthand and that of others than almost anyone else. But positivity was so rare that they decided to revel in the spare happiness that came with Annabeth's return.

"Of course it's important," Annabeth weakly argued. "I'm so proud of you. And I am… I am _honored_ to serve you." She choked, her throat tightening, her emotions running thick.

Piper wiped away a stray tear. "Stop," she pleaded. "I love you," Piper vowed, her eyes rimmed red. "I had thought I would never see you again."

Annabeth guiltily chewed her lower lip, remembering the way Piper had begged her not to submit to Luke three months ago, all of them trapped by Luke and his armed men and women. Piper's hoarse voice still haunted her. "Never mind that," said Annabeth, holding Piper by the arms in front of her to study her. "Tell me what to do. You've held up the fort so well, but I'm here now, and I can help."

Piper didn't look at her like she was fragile or crazy. She nodded, shuddering one last time from crying before pointing across the battlefield. "To the East. Reyna sent a messenger about five minutes ago." Piper gestured to the dark-haired boy next to her. He was small, young, maybe thirteen, and starstruck to be in both Piper and her presence. Annabeth felt a stab of guilt at such a young kid fighting in the war. He must've been one of Malcolm's recruits for she recognized the orange flame on his breast pocket immediately—a symbol of Epresh and the Ashingtons. Pride flushed through her.

"Princess," he gasped, looking up at her. "It's an honor, my Lady."

"I'm no longer royal," she gently reminded him.

He stubbornly shook his head. "You'll always be our voice," he promised. "My sister loved you. As did my mother."

 _Loved._ Annabeth swallowed, choosing not to ask. She prayed he wasn't also an orphan, but she had a feeling that was exactly what had happened as a result of all this ongoing bloodshed. "Well, thank you," she permitted. "I will always love my people, as comrades or as subjects," she told him, her heart swelling with affection for this younger boy and his family she hadn't known.

"Reyna needs backup," Piper relayed the boy's message to Annabeth. The Europeans are sending _bombs_ from the East."

Annabeth swore. Her mind had not deteriorated in that prison: it was the one thing she was still sure of. "We need machinery then."

Piper nodded. "I sent a messenger to Malcolm, wondering how the inventory in Epresh or Jirot is, but I wasn't sure."

"Forget Epresh and Jirot," Annabeth instructed, her mind whirring. "We need to send a squad to Sumisu."

Piper's mouth parted in surprise. "But Thalia's still securing their surrender down there. It'll be chaos."

"A small squad, then," Annabeth amended. "But your sister Silena married Sir Beckendorf of Baca—"

"Beckendorf's dead," Piper revealed, interrupting.

Annabeth's mouth opened and closed in surprise. "When?"

"About three hours ago."

Annabeth cursed. "It's okay. Silena's still down there, right?"

Piper grimly nodded. "She's probably in a strange mindset, though."

"It's fine; we can still work with this. All Silena needs is to give us access, and Thalia can do the rest."

Piper nodded in cautious agreement, slowly understanding where Annabeth was going with this.

"House Haersley will have access to the top of the line vehicles and aircrafts. Some of their model fighter jets have built in bomb detonators that can drop from miles above sea level," she spoke quickly. The boy at Piper's side watched in amazement.

"I'll send Leo," Piper understood. "He can fly one back."

"Take Frank too—"

"—his pacifists use helicopters frequently and have basic knowledge," Piper finished for her. They were a good team. "You're a genius, Chase."

Annabeth's heart surged with happiness. It had been so long since she had felt this useful. "No. We are." It felt complete to say, and Piper traded a genuine smile with her before sending the boy off running to deliver the message to Leo.

A crossbow clicked behind Annabeth, but before the attacker could shoot, Piper had already slashed his neck, having heard the movement moments before. Annabeth, startled by her delayed reflexes, gaped at Piper in surprise.

"Thanks."

Piper simply nodded before darting off into battle, Annabeth closely following, the dagger in her hand still warm from Percy's touch.

…

As she fought, she slowly gained her reflexes, though once in a while she grew easily tired, and one of her nearby comrades would save her ass from decapitation. Annabeth bent behind Hazel as the small, curly-haired angel speared a guard to his knees.

"Thanks," Annabeth called over the chaos. Hazel smiled sweetly before gunning down Piper's fourth cousin, twice removed. Annabeth shivered, making a mental note never to cross the young Levesque. Annabeth persisted through the crowd in search of someone in particular, a blond man with haunting eyes, in particular.

She wanted to throw it in his face, to slam the hilt of her dagger against his temple.

"Who are you looking for?" a voice whispered in her ear, surprising her.

"Percy," Annabeth realized, calming her pounding heartbeat with deep breaths. "Oh, god." There was a long bandage across her arm, presumably from Will, but it had peeled off, and he was bleeding again.

"It's okay," Percy promised before she could fret. Annabeth deeply frowned, but chose to ignore it for the moment being.

"No one in particular."

"Liar.

She mustered a glare at him.

"If you're looking for my brother, he's still in the castle, protected by his fleet of guards. I already looked."

Oh. Annabeth felt small under his intense stare. "I'm looking for Kitty."

"Who?" Percy's forehead creased.

"Guard Haven."

"You mean Medusa's guards?" Percy realized.

"I never knew their name." Annabeth shrugged, stabbing an attacker. Percy finished her off, burying his sword into her chest before pulling the blade out, slick with dark blood.

Percy frowned. "I see. I think I saw her—right there, actually." He pointed a lean arm to just over the hill. Sure enough, Kitty shot down a small ginger girl with a single bullet, her expression fierce. Annabeth went icy cold all over with hatred. "I'll see you in five minutes?"

She barely nodded, and before Percy could stop her, she sprinted up the hill, stalking Kitty like prey, ironically. And then she pounced.

Kitty's face paled with realization. "You!" she cried, her eyes narrowing at Annabeth, but it was too late.

Using all her pent up anger, Annabeth grazed Kitty's arm the first time, mistakenly missing, but then she parried the blow by holding her dagger vertically, and then she struck like a snake, sticking her dagger into Kitty's neck. Annabeth didn't feel an ounce of regret. After all the torturous loneliness and Kitten's cruel smirks and stinging words and rough hands, Annabeth felt Kitty got what she deserved.

Percy was a hurricane behind her, warding off rows upon rows of guards, fighting a demon. She watched with awe, but then—but then she saw it out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't respond fast enough, falling to her knees against the grass with pure exhaustion. Percy was too occupied with a particularly stubborn soldier to see it coming.

A guttural scream rose in her chest, and she was shouting his name, and his eyes went wide as a sword cleanly sliced into his abdomen.

And then she was running as fast she could, but there were too many bodies, some cheering, some angry, some saying something about Luke murdering them all for taking _his_ kill, and Annabeth was shivering, and when she reached for her face, she realized she was crying.

She had never been religious before, but it wasn't until now that she prayed, prayed for the Gods to be real, to be watching over her, to be watching over _him._ There was blood pooling underneath him, that much she could see. She tried to shove her way to the front, but someone's elbow cracked against the bridge of her nose, sending mind-numbing pain shooting up the front of her face. Annabeth stumbled backwards, her shaking hands flying up to ease the pain, but blood was already trickling out of her nostrils.

"Let me through!" she demanded, but her voice was lost among the sea of people.

"Bring his head for the King!" a soldier crooned, cackling. Annabeth stabbed him so hard with the dagger that the sheer force of her forward movement sent the corpse toppling over, dead before he'd even hit the ground.

"Don't touch him! Nobody touch him!" She yelled her voice hoarse, weeping without even understanding why.

But that wasn't necessarily true. She didn't have to make her way through the people to understand what all of this meant, what the sobs were for, why the men cheered, why others were grieving something fierce. An ungodly sob wracked its way out of her chest, and she fell to her knees, the thin flesh scraping, dotted with tiny beads of blood, but she didn't even feel it.

This was a loss beyond what words could describe.

It was startling. She had words for every occasion be it a celebration or a mourning. She was _born_ of words and thoughts, blessed with the ability to talk her way out of any situation. But there were no words for this sort of moment, the moment when you know you've lost everything you've waited so long for.

People, Annabeth had always known, were cruel at heart. She watched them argue, shutting her out of their circle, keeping her from seeing him. Annabeth pushed herself away, backwards, every muscle in her tingling. And perhaps it was her cynical outlook, but she had always believed people were inherently selfish, ever since she was little girl. People were not good to each other because if they were, death would not be so sad.

Annabeth watched the world blur in her hazy eyes, crumpling into herself. She staggered against a thick tree trunk, leaning against it for support. Then she retched. Screams filled the air, sobs of mothers and fathers, of friends and family. Of lovers. Of enemies.

She slid down against the tree trunk, falling into the dirt grass, her chest void of any feeling. First she sat with her anger—rotten, hollow anger. The type that has no real substance except for you're so angry at the world that you can't seem to really care. She sat with anger long enough that anger introduced herself, hesitantly revealing her real name was grief. Guilt took her hand, comforting her lightly, but Annabeth snatched her fingers away, too empty and furious and _exhausted_ to feel the full effects of the horrific incident. She did not want their artifice, not now.

The chilly fall air nipped at her ears, reminding her winter would come next. It felt like the world was grieving alongside her. The leaves waltzed in time with the wind, the red and yellow and brown skittering across the dulling blades of now pale green. When the sea cried, they swam in the tears of Thasite, spreading over the oceans' surfaces, covering the water Percy had so dearly loved.

She wanted to rake all the leaves out, fight the world to go back to summer, leave the water clear so he could swim again, even if she knew with certainty she was fighting a losing battle. But she could imagine it: the sun would kiss his skin, and he'd laugh at her irrational fear of the water and encourage her to swim with him—he would have promised to keep her afloat. What she wouldn't give for the sea to swallow her whole if he'd just be standing there next to her. Autumn was a killer, and it murdered summer with the gentlest of touches. She raked her fingernails through her scalp, and her nails came away stained red from tip to tip. She stared at her hands blankly.

She briefly remembered something she had read long ago. She wasn't sure why it came to her when she was already alone save for her ghosts, but it encroached in her space nonetheless. When someone dies, their body weight drops by exactly twenty-one grams. It was not noticeable lest you were hugging them to your chest, watching the human soul dissipate into thin air. She knew, rationally, it was in actuality the elimination of bodily fluids, not souls, but she was overtaken by the urge to chase the wind and capture his soul nonetheless so that she could have it forever, keep it on her nightstand and hug it tight to her heart in the empty of the night.

It was simply twenty-one grams. Five and a quarter teaspoons of sugar. Twenty-one raisins. Seven pennies. Four thousand, seven hundred, seventy-three grains of sand.

Seventy percent of one droopy, sad pink carnation.

And it was also all nineteen years of his life combined, reduced to a mere lump of grams.

Annabeth put her head down in her arms.

Death's fingers ghosted over her pale forearms, silent and understanding. She did not shove him away, finally giving into the inhibiting sensations.

Annabeth tried her damnest to remember the last thing he'd told her. She found she couldn't remember and that only made it worse. She caved into herself, her mind nothing but a series of fuzzy static. It flooded back to her all of a sudden.

" _I'll see you in five minutes?"_ His words had curved up, hopeful, gentle, understanding—everything she loved about him rolled into ones. Five minutes had never felt longer than it did now. She wished she had five more minutes, five minutes to tell him how much she loved him, to shove him out of the way, to sob apologies into his warm chest a thousand times. She didn't want to touch him now, only to feel that he was freezing all over. _Her_ Percy was not cold, not even when angry, but he really wasn't hers, was he?

He was a man of the reaper himself, as they all were. Children of life and death and every painful, heart wrenching moment in between. He was perhaps one of the only honest men she had ever known, and that in itself was his final truth, the final gift he'd bestowed upon her without the knowledge he had touched her at all.

Death sat in the seat next to her.

Together they made a lovely pair.


	30. Bury A Friend

**Nico**

"Tell me about him."

Nico glanced up from his bed, not entirely surprised to see a worn-out blonde standing in his doorway, blocking what little light the small lamp in the outside hallway provided.

"It'll only hurt more," Nico told her, sitting back against his pillows. He had always been a man of few words, but Percy's death only made him quieter.

"I don't care," Annabeth breathed. "Tell me about him. I want to know."

She missed him an awful lot more than she wanted the world to know. Nico puffed out a bit of smoke, letting the ash fall into a porcelain ashtray from Hades's cupboard. It had been untouched, and now it was used by none other than his son.

"I thought Will told you to kick the habit," Annabeth gently berated.

Nico shrugged a little. "It's not a habit if I only do it when I need to."

Annabeth pursed her lips, but she didn't say anything. It wasn't her place. Besides, she looked a little worse for the wear herself. "Pass me the lighter."

Nico wordlessly handed over a small flame that he had covered. It still burned, however dim. Annabeth took a cigar from his smooth box, holding it over the fire and covering it with her hand so the lazy breeze from the open window wouldn't put it out. She sat back against the closed door behind them, her hair falling into her face. It was shiny with wet, still damp from a shower. Smoking at six in the morning was probably pathetic, but it was just where Nico had found himself at this point in his life.

Nico inhaled again, thinking. "He was a shitty tree-climber…"

_Percy squinted up at the tall Elm tree. Nico was already perched atop one of the higher branches, his black hair and clothes—somehow untouched by a speck of dirt even after scaling a goddamn tree—a dark blob in the sea of green leaves._

" _I don't want to," he decided right then and there, visibly swallowing hard._

_Nico rolled his eyes. "Don't be a baby."_

" _I'm not!" Percy's face flushed red with indignation._

" _You are. You really are," Nico muttered. Even as the youngest, only eight, he was still the most fearless. It was funny, actually, considering Percy to him was the bravest, that he couldn't even climb up branches._

" _I'll fall, though," Percy protested._

_Perhaps it was the fear in his eyes—a dead giveaway of Percy's severe acrophobia—but Nico jumped from the middle branches, taking pity on his friend._

" _You'll never know if you never try," Nico pointed out, his feet planted firmly on the ground._

_Percy's mouth twisted into a frown. "Sometimes you just know," he insisted._

" _That's a lie." Nico sat under the shade of the clumped leaves, using it as a shield from the hot sun. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and at the base of his neck, leaving his pale skin shiny. "You'll always be afraid if you never try it."_

…

" _You're going to be a pilot?" Nico raised an eyebrow in disbelief._

" _I have to." Percy's eyes darkened in determination. "If I'm going to be the best general of all time, then I have to kick ass with wings."_

_Percy had started cursing by now, even though he was only twelve. The army training had done something to him that Nico could not quite place his finger on. Nico could only imagine that Percy's days had gotten a little bit longer, his nights a little bit lonelier._

_Nico blinked, choosing not to address it. "Luke's getting lemonade from the kitchen. Do you want some?"_

_As if on cue, Percy's little brother strolled into the Jirot courtyard, a servant obediently following him with a tray of clear drinks, clinking with ice in tall, frosted glasses. A young woman, perhaps in her twenties, was holding a glass that Luke occasionally sipped from._

" _Thank you," Luke articulated, his voice strong for an ten-year-old boy. He had already learned to manipulate the world around him, not that Nico could complain much. There were definite perks to being acquaintances with the Calbourne brothers. Luke could quick-talk their way into more brownies than Persephone had deemed acceptable in under three minutes. Nico had even timed him._

" _It's so hot," Nico quietly complained, fanning his face. They were sitting under an umbrella, but Nico was particularly drawn to the cooler winters, not the scorching summers of Jirot._

_Percy made a voice low in his throat, quietly agreeing. He quickly switched the topic, as if he hadn;t admitting his soul to Nico only moments before._

…

" _This is Perseus."_

_Nico blinked up at Hades before scowling in front of the boy in front of him. He was much taller than him, tanner too, and athletic. He couldn't have been much older than seven._

" _And this, son, is Nico," Poseidon coolly gestured to Nico._

" _You can call me Percy," he said, shrugging off Poseidon's hand on his shoulder._

_Nico blinked at him. His parents had thought he was mute, simply because he refused to waste his breath on words that didn't mean anything. He had watched his mother go through the danced with plenty of other ladies too many times. Bianca too._

_Nico shrugged a little, awkward._

" _You boys behave," Persephone's sweet voice ringing through the air. Nico found himself shying towards her, subconsciously drawn to his familiar mother. "We'll be in the dining room if you need us."_

_Nico didn't say anything, uncomfortable to be left alone with this stranger. He glanced over to where his sister was, desperate, but she was sitting in a pretty dress with two blond children, a boy and a girl, and three other girls, two with black hair and one brunette. They were sisters, no doubt, and equally beautiful in a way Nico had only seen his mother fuss about when picking out dresses for Bianca. The two golden-haired children had similar eyes too, and Nico quickly deduced they too were siblings. They were all politely sitting in a circle, the boy saying something, his sister chiming in momentarily._

" _Do you not talk or something?" Percy's blunt words brought Nico back to his senses._

" _Not to stupid kids," Nico hissed before he could filter himself._

_Percy's eyes went wide-eyed. "I'm just going to go find my brother, then…" he trailed off, scooting away, glancing behind him periodically, probably weirded out by him. Percy stood obediently next to a blond boy who was about a head shorter than him. He was hiding next to his mother, but Percy easily stood out, his chin tipped upwards as women of the royal courts laughed and told Poseidon his boy had beautiful eyes. Percy beamed at the praise, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine happiness._

_Nico looked away, disinterested after a few minutes. There were dark-purple filled crystal wine stems, filled with what Persephone called wine, and what Hades said he could not drink. Nico blinked owlishly at the table, before reaching on his tiptoes to grab one. He was careful not to spill, and his expression soured at the taste. Why did adults even enjoy this poison?_

" _I think you might like cookies more," Percy said, coming back to his side. Nico impassively watched as Percy grabbed two cookies, offering one to him. Nico gingerly accepted the treat, sitting next to Percy as he talked his ear off. Percy, Nico quickly realized, had a lot to say._

…

" _Prince Pevanshire," Malcolm's kind voice broke into the place Nico disappeared to at these functions of artifice and people he wished he didn't know._

" _Prince Ashington," he politely greeted in return, if not a little stunned. He hadn't seen Malcolm in at least five years. "I had thought you were in China, dealing with financials."_

_Malcolm glanced over his shoulder, his expression hardening momentarily before looking back down at him. "I came back about four days ago," he explained._

" _Ah." Nico sipped the bubbly champagne in his hand, his eyes flitting around to see what Malcolm was looking for. "I saw your sister slip upstairs, if that's who you're searching for."_

_Malcolm guiltily looked at him. "Sorry. I just worry…it's part of my job description—"_

_Nico waved away his concerns. "Don't worry about it, rea—"_

" _If it isn't China's savior," a familiar voice called behind. Nico froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up from being startled._

_Malcolm's mouth curved up slightly into a charming smile. "Perseus," he greeted coolly. His glass fell to his waist as he nodded in polite recognition._

_Percy's own hand was holding a glass too, but his crystal was entirely empty, almost as if he hated champagne or something._

" _And Nico too," Percy realized, startled._

_Nico was taken aback. How long had it been? It had been at least t—_

" _When I last saw you, you barely came up to my chin," Percy calmly retorted, making Nico feel warm all over. What was this alien feeling?_

" _When I last saw you, you were clinging to an oak tree," Nico lied._

_Percy laughed. "And you haven't changed a stitch." Malcolm excused himself, pulled aside by his own father who wanted him to greet someone. "I'm glad to see you've still retained that sense of humor."_

" _Wouldn't want to disappoint," Nico dryly agreed, and Percy smiled to himself, a shy sort of smile Nico hadn't seen since he was just a boy. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. "I heard you led the battle of Manhattan a few years back."_

_Percy's demeanor changed into something cold. "I did."_

_Nico took a step back, wary. "Congratulations."_

_Percy's eyes were devoid of all emotion, except for something that perhaps resembled… anger, was that? He had this brooding look Nico remembered from when he was younger and serious, but now it was infinitely more terrifying, and he was a spitting image of Poseidon, and Nico's heart throbbed, pained by whatever had pained this boy he absolutely wished he could_ despise _, but he couldn't and—_

" _I shall see you later. Please pardon me," Percy softly mentioned, making a quick getaway and leaving Nico to contemplate where he had gone wrong._

_And when his heart had gotten more involved than it should've._

…

"You saw something in him that day," Annabeth guessed. The smoke curled around her ears and neck and mouth, making her like a figment of Nico's imagination, lost in the haze.

"I suppose," Nico agreed, albeit softly.

"I would have liked to know him then," Annabeth said out of the blue. "I would have liked to watch him grow up. I'm sure he was quite the charmer, even then."

"He was," Nico agreed. His heart still remembered what it meant to love a hero, to love a man like Percy Jackson, and he could only bend with sympathy for Annabeth. Loving Percy Jackson was like waiting for rain in a drought. He would always be lost in a world of his own, no matter how one tried, and there were some things even time could not change.

"I have to go," Annabeth said abruptly, interrupting the serenity.

Nico glanced up at her, startled by her sudden movement. There were reluctant tears in his eyes, and Nico looked out the window, unable to watch her pain.

"Thank you," she called behind her, only too hasty to leave. She brandished her heart like one brandished a tattoo. Nico's mouth still went sour every time he saw the 'L' on her collarbone, reminded of the quick-talking Luke he remembered from their childhoods, or lack thereof he supposed. Looking back, it had been so obvious their lives would've changed to this.

Nico nodded at her once, but she only shook her head, a tear running down her cheek.

" _Thank you_ ," Annabeth repeated once more, her voice cracking, and then she had disappeared in a flurry of curls and tears, leaving Nico entirely puzzled by the manners of humanity. Not that he cared enough to decipher it. In moments like these, it was just him and his smoke, and his lungs that failed him, and his heart that had never been rawer than now.

Nico closed his eyes, the sun warm on his face. He would see Percy Jackson again someday over the divide of heaven and hell, and Percy would be smirking like an idiot, and all would be okay. They would stand on opposite ends, bridged together by an old oak tree.

He allowed himself to remember for perhaps the first time in forever what it meant to love Perseus, remembering the suffering and hope and everything in between, and when Percy's faded to Will's, he found himself brushing off the last of the ash from his slacks, reaching for his black button down for Percy's funeral later.

* * *

**Annabeth**

"Please, have more tea."

The last time she had been here, she had come with Percy. It was a punch to the gut.

Annabeth hesitantly poured herself more of the pale, leafy tea. It was strangely sweet, given that there was no sugar in it—there was no sugar here, in the outskirts of civilization—but that didn't mean that Annabeth necessarily enjoyed it. Not that it mattered. She wouldn't dare be rude to this man, this man who alone possessed the last pieces of information she so desperately sought.

A handmade alarm clock, sculpted presumably by the inhibitor of this place, went off, ringing obnoxiously. Grover jumped up from his seat on a large boulder, his new glassware, etched with dainty green leaves—a present from Annabeth herself—teetering precariously on the edge of his saucer. Annabeth watched blankly as Grover tended to his "oven," which was really just a metal plate designed to trap in heat and placed out in the sun. Perhaps she would gift him a miniature oven next.

"Scone?" Grover offered politely, holding out the plate to her.

Much to her surprise, the pastries seemed fairly normal. She carefully took one, pleasantly astonished by the undeniable sweet notes enveloping her tongue. "How…?" she trailed off, peering at Grover with intrigue.

"I extract maple syrup myself," Grover proudly stated and gestured to the forest outside of his humble, sauna-like cave.

"Fascinating," Annabeth murmured. She didn't mean to sound dry—she really _did_ find Grover's abilities incredible—but she was hardly in the state of mind to be a decent teatime guest. "Thank you," she said, though she shook her head when offered a second treat. Everything tasted like chalk these days anyways.

Grover brushed crumbs off his hands before beaming at her. "No, thank _you._ I can't possibly express how grateful I am for you killing all those monsters around my house."

Annabeth smiled warmly at him, her lips stretched tight across her face, but it only hurt. "It was no problem." It had in actuality been quite the problem. She'd had to modify the recipe Malcolm had originally recreated of her antidote, turning it into a liquid with the least possible viscosity, simply so it could easily be sprayed across plants and environments, so the monsters could consume the herbs, only to keel over dead and revert to their corpse form, and finally ash, and then nothingness.

"Will you be moving back to the cities then?" Annabeth queried, sipping at the rim of her teacup.

Grover was thoughtful. "Perhaps," he brightly admitted. "I had not even allowed myself to consider the possibility!" He was absolutely ecstatic, giddy like a little boy. "But where to? Everywhere is demolished, is it not?"

Annabeth wanly smiled. "Oh, no, sir. I'm afraid you are mistaken. Epresh, Sumisu, Canada, and Jirot are all perfectly peaceful and lovely now. It's only Thasite that's still in the midst of war. I can personally find you a pleasant home anywhere you'd like." She set down the glass, a soft clink echoing from the china. "As a thanks for all you've done for me. If you hadn't told my… my friend and I about Octavian so long ago, we never could have nipped his tyrannical, madman methods at the bud."

Her chest felt heavy. Percy wasn't a friend; he was _more._ And he wasn't here.

Grover nervously smiled to himself. "Well, I suppose…" he trailed off.

"Where were you thinking?" she asked, all business now. Annabeth delicately crossed her ankles, prim like a Princess. Some habits never changed, she supposed.

"I quite love Sumisu," Grover conceded. "I'd heard when I was just a boy they have such beautiful plants…"

Annabeth nodded to herself; this was not new information. If only the Rayas had been nearly as pleasant as their luscious gardens. "Heard?" she pursued. "Have you never been?"

"I have not," Grover dejectedly confirmed, "but I have always wished to, and if what you say is true, and the war in Sumisu has concluded, then… then perhaps I may finally realize that dream."

"I assume you'll prefer the Eastern tip?" she guessed. "They have the world-famous, largest botanical garden there, still preserved as it has been for centuries."

Grover's warm brown eyes lit up a cognac gold. "Oh, could I?"

"Of course." Annabeth fiddled with her fingers. "I'll let the Queen of the Amazons know. She grew up there, after all." She felt hollow inside, thinking of Piper. She hadn't seen her dear friend in at least a few days. Piper was much too busy now, but she always, _always_ made time for her. It made Annabeth guilty, however, eating away at Piper's time, so she tried to avoid it whenever possible. For Grover, though, she would make an exception.

"Ah!" Grover nodded. "That must have been wonderful," he wistfully gushed.

Annabeth resisted the urge to tell him how fucked _all_ of their childhoods had been. Beautiful gardens had most certainly been the furthest thing from their minds. "Yes," she agreed instead. "Now… as for what I came here for. I'm sure you saw my message…"

Grover's expression sobered. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry for your loss, my dear."

Annabeth's face hardened. "Me too," was all she said. "But that wasn't all—"

"—former Queen Sally Jackson Calbourne," Grover interrupted, finishing for her. Annabeth bit her bottom lip, nodding hastily. "You want to know about her, about why she faked her own death, and you believe I know."

Annabeth shrugged half-heartedly. "Besides Tiresias, that old fool," even his name in her mouth tasted sour, "you know the most I have ever known, sir."

Grover's pale cheeks flushed a sweet pink at her praise. "Oh, you're too kind." He waved a hand, dismissing her flattery, even if it was genuine. "But you are not wrong in that I do indeed know some of Ms. Jackson's unfortunate past."

Annabeth's heart beat wildly in her chest. "Oh, please," she pleaded. "I've gone through the archives more times than I can count, and yet there is absolutely nothing about why she faked her death the way she did. I remember being told she was hunted, but that was all. I'd like to understand."

Grover was quiet, studying her with a small smile on his face. "You are certainly your mother's daughter," he murmured after a beat.

The hairs on the back of Annabeth's neck stood up. People didn't mention her mother anymore, who Annabeth had so wisely advised to leave before Malcolm turned over to democracy. It had kept her name out of their mouths in the end, just as Annabeth had hoped.

"My mother?" she echoed, her blonde eyebrows knitting together on their own accord.

"Queen Athena," Grover confirmed.

"You know about her?" She was bewildered.

"I don't live under a rock, dear."

Annabeth pointedly glanced around the cave.

"Well, I didn't always," Grover fixed. "She was only a Princess when I was growing up. A beautiful, radiant Princess. She looked an awful lot like you, save for the darker hair. And everyone loved her too, and feared her too, not unlike you."

Annabeth felt strange all over. She had never heard stories of either of her parents from when they were younger. They were mere memories she would never have. She had only seen paintings with her grandparents and her parents, but that was it.

"I see."

"And you are both the apple of the kingdoms' eyes," Grover nostalgically whispered, taking another scone for himself before mourning chewing on the flaky delight. "Nevertheless, she was always seeking knowledge. I spoke to her once too. She spoke like you, the same tone, the same manner of holding herself."

Annabeth found herself feeling rather self-conscious, Grover's intruding gaze on her. He looked away, smiling to himself, lost in a daydream.

"I'm not surprised you figured out how to reverse Duke Octavian's testy science. It's only natural you would be as curious and knowledgeable as her." He sighed in resignation, and she found herself wondering once more how old Grover really was. Sometimes he looked barely thirty, and others he spoke as if he was seventy-five. "Back to your inquiry, though," Grover acknowledged, his tangent concluding.

Annabeth tensed all over again. "They hunted her," she repeated, reminding him.

Grover frowned. "They did, didn't they?"

"Who?" Annabeth had so many questions. "And why?"

Grover settled against a warm water spring, making himself comfortable. "It all started in the spring before her birth…"

…

Annabeth rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. It swung open only seconds after, revealing a familiar face she had not seen that day.

"Paul," Annabeth breathed.

"Your Highness," Paul choked, not expecting her presence. That would make sense, considering she had not sent a message forewarning of her arrival.

She emptily acknowledged, more emotional that she had anticipated to see his face. He didn't even look like Percy for goodness sake—they weren't related by blood at all—but it didn't keep her shoulders from feeling heavy. He had saved Percy, after all, after the hydra attack. He had promised his devotion to her, the runaway Princess of Epresh, when she had been bloody, and terrified, and alone, and dirty, and sick.

"I'd like to see the Queen, if you don't mind," she articulated, her voice soft.

Paul unfroze from his stunned state. "Of course! Please, come in." He gestured for her to enter.

Annabeth stepped in from the porch, the nostalgic scent of fresh baked goods enveloping her senses. She inhaled deeply. She imagined this was what it must have felt like to grow up normal, to grow up with a kind mother who understood, and a loving father, and an adorable baby sister—she eyed the strewn children's book, no doubt prized possessions of Estelle. Estelle would be nearly three now, grown much older than the last Annabeth had seen her. The thought was vaguely depressing.

"Would you like some gin? Or tea?" Paul kindly offered. "I'm afraid we don't have any ports or sherry, seeing as my wife hasn't stepped foot in a castle in over a decade." The tips of his ears were pink with embarrassment, but Annabeth wasn't bothered in the slightest. Paul was an honest, hard-working man, and she would not shame him for his medium income. She was not that haughty, not in the slightest. In fact, she quite preferred him and his humble wife to the artificial laughs and pointy teeths of the people she had grown up next to.

"Some tea would be mighty fine, Mr. Blofis." Annabeth didn't feel like drinking. She had a bad feeling she'd already be emotional enough without the alcohol coursing through her veins.

"Please, sit." Paul gestured to the wooden dining table, hastily bustling about to prepare her some tea. "If you don't mind my asking, Princess, where on earth is Sally's son?" He chuckled to himself, carefully setting down a teacup in front of her. Annabeth wrapped her long fingers around the chipped china, allowing the warmth to seep into her skin and fight the early-October cold. "Last I saw him, he had passed out and then was understandably upset while picking at Sally's pancakes." Paul stood above her, mirth dancing in his eyes as he reached for the teapot in the center of the table. He poured another two cups, presumably for himself and Sally.

Annabeth's stomach twisted at his words. Before she could reply, he was calling for Sally, seemingly forgetting his question at the reminder of Annabeth's initial reason for visiting.

"Annabeth?" It was Sally, and Annabeth's heart sank the second the ex-Queen's eyes scoured her home for a sign of her son. Some delusional part of her had hoped Sally would have seen the news all over the broadcasting systems, but their house wasn't equipped with one, seeing as they lived near the edge of the woods. Sally had initially gone into hiding, after all.

"Lady Jackson," she softly greeted.

"I hadn't expected to see your face until the wars had finished," Sally cheerily noted, taking a seat next to her husband. They held hands for a moment, both optimistic and happy. It only made Annabeth feel worse. Sally blew on her tea before sipping. "What brings you to my humble abode?" she inquired, her entire face lit up.

Annabeth swallowed hard. "I had been trying to track down why you were hunted so many years ago."

"Oh." Sally's expression scrunched up in confusion and something akin to old distress surfacing now. "But why?"

Annabeth shrugged lightly. "I had wondered, as I'm sure you did."

"I had," Sally agreed. "I never knew who it was after me, only that I had to flee so long ago. Did you… did you realize who?" she hesitantly asked.

"I did. I spoke to the man in the woods you had warned me of so long ago. His name is Grover," Annabeth found herself blabbing to stall for time. She didn't want to address Percy at all. "He's quite nice, actually, and he only hid out because of the monsters which… which is another headache for me to explain to you another time."

Sally patiently smiled at her. "And?"

"Queen Medusa's parents," Annabeth revealed.

Sally paled slightly. "But… but I was only a young girl. How did they already have a personal vendetta against me?"

Annabeth shook her head. "I don't think it was personal, ma'am. They simply wanted to marry into the Calbourne family—Medusa's father Phorcys had had a thing for Rhea, late King Poseidon's mother. The easiest way they found fittest to enter your bloodline was to eliminate you. This was decided even before you were born, as soon as your mother announced she was pregnant."

"I see," Sally choked out. She sipped on the tea, Paul's palm rubbing small circles into her back reassuringly.

"It's awful, I know," Annabeth admitted, "but you and I both know how coldblooded these Houses can be."

Sally's eyes concealed a lifetime of hurt, and Annabeth had no doubt Sally, a mere peasant girl with whom Poseidon had caught eye of once, fancied, and promptly fallen in love with, had suffered the brunt of the pain, thrown into a life she had never really wanted.

"It's quite alright," Sally kindly decided. "It's all over and done with now. I heard of Queen Medusa's demise," she tartly stated. The victory didn't seem as triumphant to Annabeth anymore, not after all that had happened after Piper's brutal murder of the snake Queen. Her smile was tacit too, implying years upon years of healing. "I simply haven't returned to town because Paul and I love it here. It's a beautiful place to raise Estelle." Paul smiled into his cup, silently in agreement of his wife's words.

"Indeed it is," Annabeth emptily voiced. It was a beautiful place, and it was untouched by the world's cruelty. She felt uncharacteristically jealous for a life of blissful ignorance.

"Speaking of Estelle, where's my other child?" Sally teased, but her blue eyes revealed her very real concern. "I thought he might still be trailing after you like a puppy. He's quite grown now, isn't he?" Sally ventured delicately, smiling involuntarily of her mental image of her son. "He'd never say it out, stubborn like his father, but I'm positive he's absolutely smitten with you," Sally revealed, laughing. It sounded like bells.

Annabeth felt like she was drowning once more in her despair.

"Annabeth? Oh, was it something I said?" Sally's hands reached out, comfortingly holding the shattering girl in front of her. It was then that Annabeth realized she was crying. "I'm so sorry. Did you have an argument? That was awfully insensitive of me. Or did Percy say something? I'll yell at him."

Annabeth held up a hand, praying for Ms. Jackson to stop talking. Paul stood to give her a hug. Sally stopped talking, comforting her with her husband. Annabeth leaned against them, grateful for their support.

"He's… he's…" Annabeth spread her arms, unable to say it. It hadn't even been a full week since Percy had died, but the wounds were as fresh as his had been. He haunted her every dream. Well, nightmares really. A life without Percy hardly felt like a world worth living in, Annabeth had come to realize.

Paul had not understood, but Sally was a mother, and she could understand grief better than anyone else in that room. Tears pricked at her once joyous blue orbs.

"I'm so sorry," Annabeth sobbed. She had not cried this hard since the day he had died. "I came to invite you to his funeral later today," she admitted.

Sally cried with her and Paul too, misty-eyed.

"I should've shoved him out of the way—he was fighting, and they tried to take him—I couldn't get the body; there were too many—" Annabeth's sobs cut her off. Her hands flung up to stifle her cries, muffling her weeping. Sally freely wept with her, and it was oddly absolving to have another grieve as deeply as she did. "It's all my fault." Annabeth wasn't even really making sense anymore, but she was past logic.

She was here alone at Sally's home, and she wasn't alone, not really, surrounded by friends and her brother always, but she would always be alone to a certain extent. She liked to lean on Piper in this rough time. They had both lost the loves of their lives, but all Annabeth found herself thinking of was the sheer number of times Percy had countlessly saved her, time and time again, and this time he had given his body and his last breath for her. Again.

"It's not," Sally assured her, tears dripping down her face. "It's okay," she promised, but with her crying, it was hard to believe her. Together, the three of them cried and mourned for a boy, not a hero. The armies and people could weep a Prince, a King-to-be, a soldier, a general, a hero, but to Sally, that would always be her little boy, and to Annabeth he'd always be her world. Nothing more, nothing less. He had pulled her out from drowning so many times before, her lifeboat in the bleakest of storms, and now she had drowned in him himself. Fate was as cruel as it got.

…

Annabeth had spent so long trying to forget but now, watching his raft flow out into the roaring ocean at Thasite's border—the only safe border in the war as of now, the East border where Poseidon had been buried, she allowed herself to remember. He really had loved his father despite their combined flaws, and it was only fitting Perseus was freed her where his father had been absolved only months before.

" _Ave atque vale,_ " they chimed together, the hundreds of voices. Sally squeezed her hand, but let go in the end, allowing Annabeth to push to his raft out into the gentle current. The ocean was calm that evening, as if it knew it had to carry its Prince to somewhere beautiful, somewhere with no swords and no violence on its shores. Somewhere with a great big lake for Percy to spend his days in. Somewhere with the best blue cookies in the universe.

" _Et liberabo te,_ " Annabeth whispered, watching with painfully dry eyes as he drifted peacefully. _I free you._ They had not gotten his body back, but they had made a small shrine of all his things for him in his place. Piper hugged her side, watching with her as he bobbed, the tiniest hope in the biggest, baddest of waters.

She allowed herself to remember the best of times and the worst too.

 _"My apologies, Princess; it was not my intention to startle you."_ The first words he'd ever said to her at that ball were still fresh in her mind. She'd glanced up, inexplicably nervous. He had _beautiful_ sea-green eyes; that had been the first thing she'd noticed. And then he'd called her pale after accidentally letting her know about her betrothal to his brother, making her hate him more than she'd ever hated anyone else before. Funny that she'd end up in his arms alone only months later in a cold, abandoned castle room, his lips pressed to hers after her outburst in her father's council room. Some might've called her simply tsundere.

He'd called Drew a parrot for squawking over her ruined dress at that party, making the most cynical of girls fall hopelessly in love with him, even if she hadn't known her tiniest inkling of affection would blossom into the electrifying, unquestionable passion she'd have for him even after he'd died. He'd called her stunning even whilst angry with her, making butterflies shoot up her stomach. It was perhaps then that she had realized she was completely and totally fucked. She had called him a pig at that breakfast, making Malcolm mad, and he'd laughed it off, that crooked, signature smile of his overtaking his face. After her and Luke had turned the ballroom to hell, Luke assassinating more at Medusa's orders she'd found out only later, she had been bleeding all over the marble floors.

" _Annabeth, stay with me,"_ he'd told her, scared for _her,_ as she laid in his arms, dying of blood loss and self-loathing.

Annabeth's eyes flew shut, quietly terrified to this day of the image of Percy torturing Reyna and the others in that cellar after capturing them. He had been one of the wolves that day, reminding her of why she couldn't dare to love him, no matter how her heart protested otherwise. Then she'd dressed up for him at the other ball, hoping to distract him while the Amazons took down his father and the entire court.

" _I can hear you, you know,"_ he'd said, scaring the fuck out of her after determinedly following him for some time. " _You don't do subtle do you?"_ She had thought she was doing really well. " _Hardly. In that bright blue dress? Good one?"_ She'd frustratedly demanded to know why he hadn't called her out for it sooner. _Percy shrugged. "I wanted to see how far you'd follow me. Curiosity."_ It had been at that very moment that she realized she wasn't exactly entirely pretending to be in love with him. _"Are you okay?" his voice cut through her revelation._

_"Fine," she wheezed, half-wincing as her skin brushed against the cold stone._

_"People aren't usually fine when they're draped all over a building like a pathetic noodle."_

_She blinked. "You're such an asshole."_

And then he'd told her he liked her dress, as if it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things, as if it was nothing to compliment a girl he'd kissed only days before, even when she was promised to someone else. Annabeth felt nostalgic for those times, when her biggest issues had been trying to lie to the world that she wasn't an Amazon. When she had thought Luke loved her. But nostalgia was dangerous like that: it painted average, almost painful memories in gold, making it more beautiful than it was. She would never dare return to such ignorance and naivety, not even if she was forced to. And then Medusa had locked them both up. She asked if she could break them out, would he come with her? His answer haunted her, even to this day.

_"Why would you even want to help me?" he smiled, but there was no humor in it. It was terrifying, so unlike his usual demeanor. She had done this to him; she was the cause of this whole mess. Of course he fucking hated her. Annabeth bit her lip. "I'm just a thing for you to use."_

Then he'd fought the hydra with her, nearly died, exposed his vulnerability in front of his mother, and Annabeth had kissed him over and over and over again because she could. He had raced in Octavian's hospital with her, falling to his knees when he couldn't save her. And he fell for her again when she returned, when he saved her from that hell, worshipping her and her body like no other. She could still feel traces of his fingers on her skin, and Annabeth feared the day she would forget the exact shade of his green eyes, what it was like for his calloused fingers to touch her, what it was like for his lips, fervent and demanding, to feverishly press up against her own, claiming her in that way he did, in the way that had made her face erupt in pink hues.

Then Nico had fallen ill after Octavian's attack, and Percy had wavered for perhaps the first time she had ever known. He fell sick with his little brother in all but blood, mentally and physically weakened. They had yelled at each other, and his words still stung her to this day, more painful than anyone else. She had cried for him then too, sobbing pathetically, telling him all he did was hurt her. But he healed her too, more times than she could keep track of. She'd forced him to feel angry for the first time, to admit he felt things too.

_"Look, you don't want to be here if I erupt, so get the hell away from me before I hurt you more than I already have, before I regret saying or doing more things than I already do."_

_"No." Annabeth chewed her bottom lip, balking in the silence she'd devised. "If you hate me, then show me. If you regret things, then tell me. If you're hurting, then let me heal you. If you want to hurt someone, then hurt me only." She blinked back tears. "But don't leave me alone again. I've been numb for so long, and I can't do it anymore," she prayed. This time when she cupped his face in her hands, he didn't pull away._

His painful words still scarred her. _"And you'll always choose him," he choked out. "But I want you to choose me, but I wouldn't pick me either if I was you because I'm just like you said: a fucked-up son of a bitch. The corner of his mouth quirked up, but his eyes were blank. He squeezed her hand so hard that it hurt, but it was better than not feeling at all. Annabeth winced, but she relished his touch. It reminded her she was still alive, however uncertain this life was and however barbarous._

_"Tell me you love me," Annabeth let out before she could stop herself, this wild, reckless abandon to be cherished overtaking her. "Tell me you're better than him, or my father, or everyone who's ever let me down, and I'll believe you."_

He had made love to her then, treating her like glass until she'd yelled at him to stop treating her as fragile. And then he'd given her his all, even then, even when he was broken himself, reaching for her like she was a drug, and he was hopefully addicted. Annabeth could still see his face in her mind, flushed with embarrassment the next morning when she, satiated, had proclaimed angry sex to be the best kind. He had boyishly grinned then, ashamed of her words, but proud as he always was. But he would never be as proud as her, much more morally sound. The angel out of them two. Her better half, then and now, and forever.

And there, only hours before his death, she had promised she'd never go back to Luke, not for anyone. He'd smiled then too, ashamed of his reaction, but she had revelled in that expression, a face she'd never see again.

If he had asked her now to love him, to kiss him in the middle of a battlefield, to hold him before he went off to war like in those old, sexist fairy tales Annabeth despised, she would have done so without another complaint. She would have loved him enough to make up for a lifetime of hurt. She did now too, even if he wasn't there to feel it.

And if he had asked her now, his eyes rimmed red from unshed tears, his face slack from exhaustion, to choose him as he had chose her over his crown, to choose him despite his many appalling faults, she would not have thought twice about throwing away the rest of the world for him, only she had realized too late the extent of her fondness for him. But she would have thrown it away nonetheless. It couldn't possibly be a choice, not when he had always been number one in her eyes, in every aspect and meaning of what it meant to be human.

And when Annabeth touched the water one last time, the cool liquid sliding through her fingers with ease, she hoped he was watching her from wherever he was now. In the water, ankles deep, she felt him, all of him. His strengths and his weaknesses too.

Malcolm squeezed her side in encouragement. She was mildly aware of everyone's eyes on her, these people she had known for so long. Annabeth clung to her brother now, leaning on him as she had as a child.

Forgetting Percy would let his death be in vain, and so she promised she never would, no matter how it hurt to remember. He was worth every bit of pain, and he always would.

The waves crashed together, echoing like the three words she missed from him most. He'd always be there, in her heart if not by her side.

Annabeth closed her eyes and breathed in the sea water, and for the first time in forever she did not fear the vast ocean before her.

…

Annabeth had promised her Prince she would never return to Luke, not for anyone. She had failed to mention she would go back a thousand times, each time more painful than the last, for Percy himself.

It had been a month since the attack in the heart of the war. The war still waged on, dwindling, dimming, but still fighting on. Wars lasted years, and this too would take time, but she had come for one reason, and one reason alone.

Anyone's fingers around her wrists made her sick these days after Luke's manacles, and now she had nothing but burning hatred for the Boy King, and an inkling of regret, regret because sometimes she really believed she could have saved him, and other times she knew he had been a lost cause from the start. She loved him, Annabeth had long acknowledged, but not anymore. Now she only pitied him, pitied him for _ever_ believing she could be his. She belonged completely to Percy, even dead. He was her soulmate, despite his many, many flaws, and she would never feel any differently. She had finally come to peace with this, and it was liberating. (She liked to think she was the flawed one out of them both, anyways, liked to think he was the real Perseus—the one from the Greek myths, and she was Andromeda, and perhaps of all the tragedies, theirs would be a happy ending.)

Nico knew and no one else. He had seen the maps of Thasite splayed haphazardly across her desk, and he had known she would've found herself here, but he did not tell, faithful to her. This time, Annabeth would return alive, the corpse of the Boy King in her hand. She had no doubt about it.

"Seize her!" The first voices came from in front of her, loyal guards of King Luke, but Annabeth didn't blink, raggedly ripping open the neck of the first man until he fell to the ground and then stabbing the other man in the heart, hilt deep. They were dead before anyone could know she was there, just as she'd always intended.

…

"Who was it?" was the first thing to leave her mouth as she stormed the throne room. Her voice was hoarse at first, but she felt _strong_. Her heart was in her mouth. _Nobody_ messed with the people she loved.

"Who was it?" she asked again, balling her fists up at her sides. She glared up at Kronos. "His life. Who destroyed him?!" Kronos was a dirty player; she would not be surprised if it had been to kill his own cousin.

Kronos matched her expression with equal fervor. "You'd do well to watch your mouth, Ashington. I've done nothing wrong."

"Was it you? Did _you_ kill him?!"

Two guards surged forward to restrain her, but Annabeth wrestled her wrists out of their grips. She wasn't scared of them, not after all she'd been through.

She _had_ to know. Who killed Percy Jackson? Who turned her life upside down? Who left her to suffer and lean on Malcolm for support? Who destroyed the life of the greatest man to ever live?

She had spent days and nights together, reading, making a suspects list, trying to come to some understanding. Malcolm had watched her, his eyebrows knitting together in concern, and she knew without a doubt she indeed seemed as crazy to onlookers as she felt. She couldn't let it go. She had become _obsessed,_ obsessed with figuring out who ended Percy, how she could avenge him. His death would not go in vain, not with her heart still kicking.

She glanced to Luke, but infuriatingly she couldn't read his face. _Fuck_ him. Fuck him _so_ much. She bared her teeth. She wanted to chew him up and spit him out in acid. His expression was impassive, but she could see right through his lies. He was not as composed as he wished to seem. He was watching her with hawk eyes, stalking her every move, calculating what to do with her unprecedented arrival.

"Get a hold on your Princess!" Kronos demanded, wheeling on Luke, who said nothing.

"I'm not his Princess!" Annabeth argued.

"Get out," Luke coolly demanded. He rolled his eyes as if he was bored, but his fingers tightly clasped onto the arms of his throne chair. He was deeply afraid, Annabeth realized with some sort of sadistic satisfaction. He was terrified of little Annie and all she could do, was terrified for his prisoner to break out of his grasp, have the audacity to return, and wear his brand like a reminder of her resilience. She was out for fucking blood, and he could burn with the rest of them for all she cared. She would take his head, maybe keep it as a souvenir. Despite herself, Annabeth's stomach twisted at the idea of murdering Luke, but her face hardened. She had always led with her head, not her heart, and this was no different. If no one else had the guts to kill him, then she would.

All of a sudden, Luke blanched, turning whiter than Annabeth had thought possible.

"Ah!" Kronos backed up in terror as if he'd seen a ghost.

She frowned in confusion, but then a voice behind her left her just as white as the youngest Calbourne, as pale as a sheet, frozen like the snow that would come after this November ended.

"Hey, hey. 'Destroyed?' That's an exaggeration."

Annabeth whirled around, and her mouth fell open when she realized exactly _who_ —

He was standing in the doorway, his hair sticking up every which way as usual. He was dressed in a clean, crisp, white button-down and Calbourne military coat, and he had finally cut his hair too. The dark tie around his neck was sitting awry, like he hadn't bothered to straighten it. His face was clean, freshly scrubbed like he was still living in the Thasite castle, and his sea-green eyes were sparkling with thinly-veiled amusement, a hint of his signature mischievous smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth. His hands were neatly folded in front of him, and she could see a gleaming blue diamond of the family ring, heavy on his right index finger. He probably hadn't worn that since the first ball. His skin was glowing and healthy, healthier and happier than she had seen him in so long, and his teeth gleamed white.

Annabeth was at a loss for words, her knees going weak. She nearly collapsed right then and there; despite the faces all around them, he looked only at her, as if she was the only one in existence.

Perseus Jackson tilted his head to one side, offering a sort of half-smile. "My life is not such a bad one, don't you think?"


	31. The End of The Beginning

**Annabeth**

"I swear… you're as reckless, as obstinate as ever. And I didn't think I'd meet you in such a place. You look more energetic than I thought; I'm relieved." Percy wistfully tried to meet her eyes, but she adamantly refused.

She stared first at his sword, not at the man himself—perhaps, she suspected, his presence and very much _aliveness_ was too much for her mortal brain to handle right then. His sword was clean and shiny in its sheath, devoid of all blood and gore. At first she was surprised—how had he gotten in without a speck of blood? There were so many guards circling Luke's fortress. Even she had to knock out so many guards and probably kill a few. The blood stained her hands, but it was nothing in comparison to the weight of their death on her shoulders. Still, she was curious… and afraid—not of him anymore, maybe, but of what he was capable of.

"Brother." It was Percy.

The word was stiff, unfriendly, uninviting, just as it should've been. Poisonous. Annabeth looked back to Luke, suddenly remembering where she was and that even if she was all Percy saw, she was not the only person in this room. Kronos was terrified for his life, but she was hardly looking at him. The electricity practically crackled between both brothers. Luke's white knuckles gripped to his throne, and Percy's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

And between them both, she stood.

She was the source of their great divide, the wrench in plans of gold castles and fine wine and a beautiful ending.

Annabeth stumbled back out of their line of direct sight, but Percy's eyes only followed her. He stood distant from her, but he protected her with his burning gaze. It made her squirm.

"How…?" she finally croaked out when silence fell upon them all. She glanced up at Percy, desperate for answers. How had he survived when she had seen him keel over? "And why?" Her voice cracked despite herself. Luke's demeanor hardened, and something like remorse passed over Perseus' face. Why had he abandoned her for a month and a half? Why had he not sent a message of his survival as soon as he was safe? Did he think she would've forgotten him so quickly? Did he think she hadn't been haunted every moment, both awake and asleep, by the emptiness without him? Did he think she didn't fucking care at all? How could he make her fall in love with her and then just up and leave? He had _promised._ How dare he mess with her feelings like that?

Annabeth balled her fists up by her sides, stuck somewhere in the moral shades of grey, conflicted between anger and misery and sobbing and everything in between.

"You must have had help," Annabeth accused. "Who? Who helped you out?"

"You don't want to know."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" She resisted the urge to punch him in the face. Maybe she'd punch them both. Line up both Calbournes and stab them both for all the ways in which they made her crazy, and then maybe she'd apologize for dragging them on this sinking boat with her.

"Drew," he conceded. "Who else?"

Annabeth narrowed her eyes at him, her heart skipping a beat. "She's been missing in action for over forty-eight hours. Where is she?" It felt like betrayal. Drew had hurt her so many times, and Percy had just gone along with her, no questions asked? He hadn't even contacted her. He'd just been off with Drew god knows where doing god knows what. It stung like a fresh graze.

There was no answer. "I can't tell you."

"You can't tell me?" Annabeth was very aware of the strain in her voice. Luke's eyes flickered to hers, something akin to pity filling the sad blue. It was as if he'd known it would come to this. In a way, he had. He had warned her in that bathtub when he'd announced his wedding plans to her, had confessed his fucked love. Luke had warned her to hide her heart, had warned her Perseus would hurt her like Luke himself had, only in a different way. And he was right. Again.

"I promised," Percy whispered, his mouth turning down in realization at his own words.

He had made a promise to her first. He had promised her the world the first night he pressed her against the Epresh castle walls and kissed her like the devil was chasing him. He had implied forever, honesty, hardship but perseverance, and when he had faked his death without another word, he had shattered her trust in him instantly. His promises were worth the dust on her feet.

Annabeth physically took a step back, disgusted with Luke for being right, and Percy for fucking her over, even if on accident, and mostly with herself for ever, _ever_ believing she could trust a Calbourne. Athena had been right from the start. They were snakes, all of them.

"Annabeth," Percy began, but she drew back into herself, stubborn and hurt. He stood back, his hand dropping to his side. Perhaps he realized then he had already lost her beyond recovery.

Percy looked out at the people staring at him, their jaws on the floor. "I'm sorry for the uproar. I would have liked to talk it through at ease, but I have to do what I came back here to do. I came to straighten up the last nineteen years of my life. It came as a shock to me that I achieved this goal much faster as an outsider than as an insider." He turned to her. "How many times have you been hurt by my name, by the Calbourne brand?"

The 'L' on her collarbone stung at his unfortunate choice of words. She was quiet.

"I went off the grid to figure it out myself, and you not knowing… it would only keep you more safe."

A weak explanation, she internally rationalized. Luke had gotten to his feet by now, only an inch shorter than Percy. They would be formidable enemies, but Annabeth knew deep down as she had always known that Percy would never have the guts to kill Luke when push came to shove. This wasn't a fairytale, and it was about time she quit chasing fantasies and stupid boys and people who didn't follow through. The only way to get anything she wanted in this world was to do it herself.

She didn't even remember the exact moment she had fallen for the role of damsel in distress. She didn't even remember trying out. Perhaps it had been one of those nights, not any one in particular, but just the contentedness that came with the blend of them all, when she had looked into his sea green eyes and submitted herself to his protection and sweet words. Perhaps it had the evening she gripped to the side of Luke's bathtub, averting her eyes, and he had confessed it had been all his fault, their downfall. All she knew was that she didn't want this part anymore, and she would do anything she had to to escape this part in this play. Plays were for children.

As if he sensed he was losing her, "it's not your fault you couldn't find Drew. Nobody else would think of looking for her where I did."

"So, what? You dragged yourself away, bloody and beaten, all the way to some neverland?" Annabeth coldly demanded.

"She came to me," Percy insisted. "She needed something… she was willing to trade."

"She was at the battle?" The disbelief was evident in Annabeth's voice, clear as day. Luke froze across from her, as uncomfortable by this tidbit of information as she was. Drew was dangerous, no doubt about it, but to sneak into a battle unseen and undetected? She was worse than Annabeth had ever thought.

Percy tapped the hilt of Riptide. "She came in peace."

Annabeth scoffed. "Drew comes in peace for nothing."

Percy hardened. "Nevertheless, I will not disclose her location. Think of me what you will." But his voice softened, trailing off, almost like he was disappointed in her reaction which was just fucking stupid because _he_ left _her._ He did not have the right to feel wistful, to miss her, to need her. He fucking _left_ her.

They were standing in a triangle, circling round the center fountain. A marble fish sprung from the center, spitting out crystal water of Thasite.

"Why dare show your face here?" Luke demanded, turning to his brother. "Why wouldn't you just hide out for the rest of time like a coward?"

Percy gritted his teeth. "I have something, something I think will interest you greatly."

Luke was quiet.

Percy tossed a disk towards a nearby guard who caught it out of fear. "Play it," Percy lazily demanded, but his features sharpened in the light. The guard hastily slipped the disk into a screen.

Annabeth's eyes narrowed as the blurry recording came into focus. There was a girl with blonde cu—oh, that was her. Her heart skipped a beat in recognition. Glittery blue eyes seemed to stare into her soul. Medusa's. She remembered this moment, Percy's sword held to his father's neck at Medusa's demand and Luke's indifference. But there had been no videographic evidence. Medusa had cut the tapes. So what was this? She didn't dare look at Percy, focusing intently on the screen. She wasn't sure if it was because she didn't want to see the hurt on his face as he relived the traumatic experience, or if she just didn't want to see him anymore; he made her weak in every sense of the word.

In the blink of an eye, Medusa's sword cut through Poseidon's throat. The audio was a little dusty, but it was most certainly decipherable. Poseidon's death had been no accident, and now the clip only proved it. Luke's eyes hardened in understanding, and he glared down the aisle at his brother.

"It's an edit," Luke spat. "There's no real evidence."

Annabeth internally confirmed this. Percy had been forced to kill his father. Medusa had never stabbed Poseidon directly. It was indeed an edit, but a crystal clean one. If she hadn't already known the truth, witnessed it with her very own eyes, she might have believed the video.

Percy shrugged carelessly, but she saw the way his muscles tensed up. "Maybe." He shot Luke a half-smile that made Annabeth's stomach churn. His teeth gleamed like Poseidon's when he did that, like a monster, like… like someone she tried to forget. "But people will believe what they want to believe, Lukey. You know that as well as I do." And people had never trusted Medusa, still loyal to the 'dead' Queen Sally before her. If Medusa supposedly cut off Poseidon's head—a truth the public would only be all too willing to believe—then how could they trust a snake's son? Simple. They couldn't.

" _I could set this world on fire and call it rain,"_ Luke bitterly agreed, quoting something he'd said back in the arena when Percy and Annabeth had been friends with him, when she had been living in the illusion that Luke was wonderful, and Percy was wrong, and Luke looked out for her in a way less twisted than he did now.

"So do we have a deal?" Percy drawled.

"A deal?" Annabeth squeaked out despite herself. She wished for Chiron now, for someone to explain to what was happening. She was way in over her head in this game; Chiron had been right. She didn't belong here in a world of implied lies and betrayal. She didn't know what she was doing.

Percy swiftly ignored her interruption, never once breaking eye contact with his brother. They traded silent words, staring at each other for a long time, never once moving a single muscle.

Luke barked out a sharp laugh, sending shivers down Annabeth's spine. "You think I'll give up everything my mother died for over a child's edit?" But he was afraid, so very afraid. And Percy could see it, could spot his lie from miles away. The hairs on the back of Annabeth's neck stood up.

"No," Percy agreed. "I must admit, though, I was curious." He was bitter, so very bitter. Two bitter brothers and a girl caught in between, the gas that started the flame—no, the fucking _wildfire._ "I wanted to see your face. I wanted to know you were gone forever. I wanted to make sure…" Percy trailed off, something more vulnerable peeking out from behind his clever, cruel facade—or at least, Annabeth _hoped_ it was all a facade; there was a nagging voice in the back of her mind, reminding her of Percy's innate cruelty. "And I don't believe it," Percy finished. "You're bitter, and you feel forgotten, and you have every right to be angry, but you're not the brother I know. The Luke I know would have never set a hand on Annabeth, not like this. And I know it's Medusa's fault, and perhaps that's why I'll never kill you, not really, why I'll always regret letting you down—"

"You didn't impact me at all!" Luke's voice trembled with rage. "You were not as important to my childhood as you remember, Perseus. You were nothing special to me, only to everyone else."

"Maybe," Percy conceded, not surprised by his outburst. "But you were _everything_ to me. And I'm sorry, even if you don't want to hear it."

Slowly, the guards began to kneel… kneel to Percy. The rightful heir. Annabeth felt like throwing up.

Annabeth didn't even flinch when Kronos threw the first dagger.

…

The throne room erupted in chaos. Immediately it was every man for himself. Percy very obviously avoided dueling Luke, and there was a slight crease in Luke's forehead, like that time he had seen blood dripping down Percy's mouth after Medusa slapped him across the face multiple times in the room before killing Poseidon, like he still _cared_ or something.

Annabeth didn't really care anymore. She was past trying to understand boys with issues. She had issues of her own and that included surviving _this_ madness. Guards surged forward to take her down. A few stood up to Percy, loyal to Luke, but others, old friends of Percy, rebelled against Luke.

Kronos tried to shoot down Percy _and_ Luke _and_ her, and he was losing a dying battle. Percy stabbed him through the heart, and Kronos' eyes rolled back until there was nothing left but white.

Blood streaked across the white marble floor. Annabeth could feel her heart beating in her chest as she too avoided Percy. She would never be able to raise a blade to him. At least that's what she'd always thought. With conflicting emotions, she decided it was simply smartest to avoid him at all costs.

Perhaps it's that idea that forces Annabeth to spin on her heels and run out the palace doors. She didn't want to see how this ends, and she didn't feel like a coward. There was a full on war outside Thasite's castle, and she was more than eager to be caught in that storm rather than this.

…

"Piper?" Annabeth screamed over the commotion outside. This war was killing her.

"Annabeth," Piper screamed back.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Heard you came to confront the Boy King," Piper coolly remarked. Nico slipped out of the shadows, shrugging unevenly.

"Sorry," he said insincerely, but Annabeth was only all too relieved to see him. She crushed him in a hug tight to her chest until he batted her away, his cheeks flushed pink. Annabeth reached down, kissing the top of his head without another thought.

"And?" Annabeth inquired.

Piper grinned a little. "Reyna and Thalia still got it."

Despite the world-shattering moments only a few minutes before, Annabeth found herself smiling tiredly. "I fucking love you."

"Don't I know it." But Piper sounded pleased. "So where is he?"

"Luke?"

Piper rolled her eyes. "The frog prince. Of course I mean Luke!"

Annabeth narrowed her eyes. "I'll find him. He's here somewhere. I can _feel_ it."

"You're finding him alone?" Piper raised an eyebrow.

"I'll call for backup. We'll imprison him. We'll make him tell us all his secrets, and we'll end this war _with_ him," Annabeth decided. She wouldn't shock them with news of Percy just yet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Annabeth didn't hesitate. Luke was a direct responsibility of hers after all these months. He was connected to her like she was tied to him, and if they were to go down in flames, they would burn together just as they had so long ago, when she'd been filled to the brim with girlish hope. Empty hope. She knew better now.

…

Luke didn't flinch when he saw her. They were standing near a bridge connecting past the sea to the Calbourne castle. He was expecting her to follow him, to find him, to hunt him down, to want his head. He didn't even blink. Luke searched the sea as the waves crashed into another, his blue eyes big as dinner plates. He paled, going whiter than hair, and his throat worked furiously, lips pressing into a disappearing line. All this passed in an instant as he quickly wrestled his emotions under control, but the moment was enough for her.

She knew what fear looked like in Luke Calbourne, and he was terrified now. For very good reason.

Whatever plan he had, whatever hope there had been for escape, just disappeared with that water.

He caught her staring, reading the fading expression on his face. His jaw tightened just a little, and his eyes ran over her, slow as a caress. _You can't run from what you've done,_ she wanted to say aloud.

He got the message.

As the water faded to nothing again, beyond Annabeth's perception, his eyes fluttered shut.

She thought he was saying goodbye.

Thalia appeared just as planned, ready to trap the Boy King after Annabeth had found him. Luke didn't try to resist. She had Luke by the neck. The air filled with the sound of weapons and body armor being checked. Guns loaded, blades drawn, buttons fastened, buckles clicked into place. The pistol on Annabeth's own hip was still an unusual weight, and she leaned a little to compensate. She doubted she'd fire a bullet up there. Not like Thalia. The Grace daughter shedded her jacket, tossing it to the side to be trampled by the hundreds behind them. Without the gold overcoat, Annabeth could see the many belts and holsters crossing her back and hips, slung with half a dozen different guns and corresponding ammunition, as well as her radio. She had her knives as well, now in plain sight. Thalia Grace was ready for war.

Somewhere behind them, one of the Amazons shouted, her voice echoing oddly. Annabeth couldn't decipher it, but others repeated her words. The cheer reverberated off the walls, the sound rising like thunder, until Annabeth realized what they were chanting.

"Ascend for gold and glory."

In spite of her fear, Annabeth felt a wicked, wild grin rise to her lips.

"Ascend for gold and glory."

The spiraling passage chorused with the battle cry.

They were almost running, Luke struggling to keep up with Thalia's pace. Reyna matched her speed, her long strides eating up the white marble beneath their feet.

The lights in the tunnel overhead flickered in time with her heartbeat.

Annabeth looked back, searching through ranks of gold and red, Amazons and Canaians. The range of faces, skin of every shade, all speaking in shuddering unison. Some raised their fists or weapons or both, but no one was silent. Their voices were so loud she could barely hear her own.

"Ascend for gold and glory."

She was not a general or commander. The only things Annabeth had to worry about topside were herself, Reyna, Piper, Nico, and Thalia, if she'd let her. That was all she had the capacity for.

And Percy, wherever he might've been. Leading his army, reclaimed from Luke, fighting in vain against a greater force. Defending a city from almost inevitable ruin.

Thalia was first through the great doors of the Epresh port tunnels, vaulting out into the spiraling rain with Luke in tow. The younger Prince skidded, his shoes sliding over the wet tiles of Calbourne's Square, but Thalia kept her grip. Annabeth followed, half expecting Thalia to kill Luke on the spot, already shivering in the rain. They never planned on letting Luke survive the battle. And they didn't need him anymore, not really.

It could've been over right then.

Annabeth felt tugged by both ends of the decision. As if it was really her decision to make.

Reyna never loosened her grasp, almost holding Luke down.

Reyna wasn't as temperamental as the rest of them. She was slow to fury, even now, with Luke in hand. She was a good jailer for someone the rest of them despised so much.

"Do it," Annabeth heard Luke grit out, head still bowed. He extended his white hands, and she watched his fingers tremble in the rain. Like her, he knew where this road led.

Behind them, more and more of Piper's forces fled into the Square, still cheering the words of the Amazons. They filled the space with color, uniforms of gold and red standing out starkly even in the wet fog. Annabeth focused on the fallen King, now shuddering a hundred yards from his own palace. Even the rhythmic thud of gunfire and explosions barely penetrated her awareness.

"I said, do it," Luke snarled again, trying to goad Thalia.

Or Annabeth.

Above them, the storm clouds churned. An Amazon shined a light about, letting everyone know of their presence. They had no need to hide anymore, not when they were winning. Letting Percy know they were there.

"You don't have any more use for me." Rainwater dripped down his face, tracing familiar paths. "Be done with it."

Slowly, he raised his eyes to Annabeth's. She expected sorrow, or defeat. Not icy anger.

"Thalia—" she started, but the word was hardly out of her mouth when a shell struck true, exploding over the columned walls of the port.

The force of it blew them sideways, falling over already slippery ground.

Annabeth's skull cracked against the tile, and she saw dizzy stars for a second. She tried to stand and fell again, colliding with an equally disoriented Thalia. Annabeth held her down, pushing her flat against the Square as a leaping tongue of flame passed over them, singing the air directly above their heads.

"Luke!" Annabeth screamed, her voice lost in the sugre of battle. Against the guns, the missles, the mortar shells, the wind and the rain, she might as well have whispered.

Beneath her, Thalia tensed, pushing up on her elbows. Her head whipped back and forth, searching the crowd around them for a gray form and blond hair. Annabeth rolled to her knees, cursing, the twists of her hair already coming undone. Blonde strands drifted, unfamiliar. Nico skidded to a stop at her shoulder, his face already sweaty and flush with exertion.

"Is he gone?" he panted, trying to help her up.

As he head cleared, she managed to get her feet underneath her. Annabeth's muscles tightened, ready to dodge another flaming blow. Not that she needed to. That wasn't his way. Luke wasn't a warrior.

"He's gone," she heard herself hiss.

Annabeth could choose to hunt him down. Or she could make sure they finished what they had started. She could keep her friends alive.

With a burst of determination, she forced herself to turn, face the gates of the Square, and the bridge beyond. "We have work to do."

Though it was still shrouded in fog, she could just make out hundreds of soldiers spanning the bridge, with the looming hulks of European ships below. In the sky, air jets gave chase, swooping like deadly birds of prey. Annabeth couldn't make out anything beyond the river. The other half other city was entirely obscured. At least Piper and the officers had their radios. They should've been able to communicate.

Extending a hand, Annabeth took Thalia by the wrist, hoisting her to her feet. Her face darkened as she scowled, disgusted with herself.

"I'm sorry," Annabeth thought she heard her whisper. "I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"They made it across," Nico mused, pointing out the distant lights. The people swarmed over the weakened bridge, weakened by cannons and bombs, but they stormed the castle. "The Canadian army."

In spite of Luke's escape, her lips twitched, wanting to smile. A small burst of triumph bloomed in Annabeth's chest. "Well, that's something." More than something. The castle controlled the world around them, the gleaming centerpiece of the entire operation. They could win. She could practically taste the victory on her lips, hard-won, and a long-time coming.

They made their way to Reyna across the sea of people. "I don't see Luke," Reyna said, shifting closer to Annabeth. Annabeth found herself facing the full weight of Reyna's chocolate stare, clear and bright even in the haze. "Is it done?"

Annabeth bit her lip, almost drawing blood. The sharp pain was better than shame. She red her hesitation, and Reyna's face flushed quicker than Annabeth had thought possible.

"Annabeth Chase—"

The crackle of the radio at her side cut her off, saving the blonde from Reyna's rage. The dark-haired girl ripped it free, snarling into the receiver. "This is General Reyna."

The voice on the other end did not belong to a Command general or a Canadian officer. It wasn't Piper either.

Annabeth would've known that voice anywhere, even punctuated by gunfire.

"I thought you had left entirely," Percy said, sounding tinny and far away, distorted by static. The electricity in the air must've not been very good for radio waves.

Breathless, Annabeth looked from Reyna toward the bridge. Sure enough, one of the shadows in the gof seemed to be solidifying. Broad shoulders and a familiar, determined stride moved closer and closer. Annabeth kept still, her feet rooted in place on their perch above the fray.

Reyna gaped down at her radio. "So nice of you to make time for us." After a funeral. Annabeth cringed.

"It's only polite," he replied.

With a sigh, Reyna angled herself toward the form on the bridge, now less than fifty yards away. Percy was surrounded by his guards, and he halted, stopping the group. The guards seemed tense, their guns ready, waiting for an order. He acknowledged them with a tip of his head. Reyna furrowed her brow a little, hesitant.

Percy didn't seem to be fighting for anyone, really. It was then that Annabeth understood: _do we have a deal?_ Percy's voice echoed in her mind. He was trying to overthrow Luke for… for the position himself. Annabeth's heart beat out of her chest at the betrayal. But Percy was right. The people would accept him as King much more than they would accept the immediate elimination of the monarchy entirely. It didn't make the hurt sting any less.

"I'm guessing you know where things stand, Percy," Reyna said, eyeing Percy's control of the royal army carefully.

His response was almost too quick. "I do."

Reyna bit her lip. "And?"

A long rush of static droned before he spoke again. "Annabeth?"

The radio was in her hand before she could even think to ask for it.

"I'm here," annabeth said, locking eyes with him across a canyon.

"Is it too late?"

The question had too many implications to count.

White flashed through the clouds, enough to penetrate the mist and blind them all for a moment. Shutting her eyes, Annabeth flinched at the thunder cracking across the sky.

When the lightning passed, she answered him, and everything he meant.

"No, it isn't," she told him before returning the radio to Reyna.

She didn't stop Annabeth as she clambered down the steps, and Percy's guards stood aside when she approached, walking through the broken gates of the ruinous Square.

He waited at the edge of the bridge, unmoving. As before, he let her come to him. He let her set the pace, choose the direction, make the decision. He put it all in her hands.

Annabeth kept an even step, in spite of the rumblings far below. Something smashed, wailing and roaring. One of the ships, maybe, colliding into another. She hardly noticed.

The embrace was short, far too short, but enough. Annabeth steadied herself against him, holding tightly for as long as she dared, feeling the warm, hard lines of his body pressed against her. He smelled like smoke and blood and sweat. His arms crossed her back, holding her around the shoulders to pull her into his chest.

"I'm done with crowns," he murmured to the top of her head. "I want to be."

"I know," Annabeth whispered, but she also knew he couldn't escape this. Just like she couldn't escape her cause. His crown was worth more to him than her, and her cause was worth more to her than him. It was the way it would always be. "I had thought you had chosen the crown. They _knelt_ for you. They would give anything for you, the people."

"I know," Percy murmured remorsefully. "But… but I don't want it."

It felt like breathing a fresh breath of air. Annabeth allowed herself the smallest sliver of hope. Perhaps Percy was the true savior, the sole being uncorrupted by the temptation of power.

"You turned it down? You're not going to be King?" Annabeth stumbled backwards.

They pushed back in unison, turning to the situation at hand. They didn't have time for anything else, and Annabeth certainly didn't have the capacity to think about much more.

He half-smiled at her, but it was a grimace. King or not, all eyes would be on him for the rest of his life. "I made that mistake once before."

She remembered well. She had asked him to choose her, standing there in her blue dress on a balcony as Luke and the Amazons blew up the Epresh castle, and he had reluctantly turned her and Luke into their father, only for Poseidon to be killed.

"I'll choose you now, a thousand times again," Percy admitted so quietly she barely heard it. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

Percy raised the radio again, one hand still resting on her shoulder. "General, I believe some of the Rayas are still in War Command," he said. Through the mist, Annabeth glanced at the hulking building on the edge of the Square. "You'll want to keep an eye on your backs."

"Got it, will do," she answered. "Anything else?"

Reyna was on the move, barking orders to her lieutenants, as she relayed the advice. Nico and Thalia flanked her like guards.

"We're working on blocking up the river. If the ships can't turn around…"

"They can't escape," Annabeth finished for him, glancing out at the destruction on both sides of the city. Missiles spiraled overhead, trailing smoke like black ink over paper as they arced and exploded.

In spite of Percy's soldiers, as well as the jets overhead, the European armada didn't seem to be taking much damage. Percy watched her, his face still and grim. "We have to start sinking the ships, but with the river, they have all the shields they'll ever need. Right now it's all we can do to minimize the damage to the city." He cursed as a wave knocked back another volley of gunfire. "They have to run out of ammunition eventually, right?" he said dryly.

Annabeth glared at the offending ships, eyes running over their steel hides. "Call up some jets. Let's get the Rayas on the ship. I want them dead. All of them. And Drew too."

"Drew's gone."

"But you said she saved you."

Somehow, Percy looked oddly proud. "She had an opportunity, and she took it."

An opportunity to run and put all this behind her. Annabeth too felt a strange mix of pride and surprise. She had fled from the royal lifestyle, probably with a lover, to the land of the free.

"Canada?"

"I still can't tell you," Percy muttered.

Annabeth nodded, but it was empty. She still found herself searching for Luke.

"What's the look for?" Percy inquired.

"It's Luke."

"He's here?" Percy quirked an eyebrow, unable to disguise his surprise. That was right. The Amazons had captured him. _Had._

It was no use lying. "He slipped us."

He blinked at her. Another missile whined past. "This is a very odd time for a very odd joke, Annabeth."

She wavered, dropping her gaze. She was not joking.

The ring on his finger clinked angrily, screeching against Riptide. Angry, surprised, exasperated, he tossed something over the edge of the bridge, letting it fall into the water below.

"So he's somewhere in the city," he snapped. "Fantastic."

"You keep an eye on Nico and Reyna. I'll find him," Annabeth said quickly, putting a hand to his arm.

Percy brushed her away gently. He glanced back to the Square again, teeth gritted. "No, I will."

She was faster than him, not weighed down by heavy cloths. She dodged his hands with ease, planting herself firmly between him and the Square. Putting her palm on his chest, she held him at arm's length. "You're a little busy," she said, jerking her chin toward the armada below them.

"A little," he ground out.

"I can finish this."

"I know you can."

His armor warmed beneath her hand, and he covered her fingers with his own.

Then the bridge buckled beneath them as something slammed into it, a dozen times, from all angels. Above, below. Missiles, shells. A crashing wave sent spray up the supports and onto the level where they stood. Heavier in his armor, Percy lost his balance, falling flat while Annabeth fought to stay upright.

Except there was no such thing as upright.

The three-tiered bridge, massive stone and steel, bowed toward its center, drooping downward. It wasn't difficult to guess why. Another explosion shuddered, and a spray of debris plummeted outward, falling with the central supports of the bridge.

Percy scrambled, trying to get to his feet, and Annabeth seized beneath the arm. She would've dragged him if she could've, but the armor was too heavy.

"Help!" she shouted, looking for his guards.

The soldiers, his grandmother's own kin, wasted no time dragging Percy to his feet. But the bridge fought them, falling faster and faster, roaring against its own demise.

Annabeth screamed when the pavement under their feet gave way, slamming into the next tier thirty feet below. She landed hard on her side, and something cracked in her ribs, sending spiderwebs of pain over her. Hissing, she tried to roll and get her bearings. _Get off the bridge, get off the bridge_ drummed in her head.

Percy was already on his knees, a hand outstretched. Not to grab her. To stop her.

"Don't move!" he screamed, fingers splayed.

Annabeth froze mid step, her arm wrapped around her rib cage.

His eyes stood out sharply, so afraid, his pupils blown wide and dark.

Instead of the armada, their guns raining concussive hell upon them, she could only hear one thing. Like a whisper, but worse.

Cracking. Crumbling.

"Perce—"

Everything collapsed beneath them.

…

If Annabeth even knew Luke at all, she would've known he would be here, searching the castle for weapons, something to help him. He had nowhere to go. Who would ever accept the Boy King?

 _Percy_ , something in the back of her mind nagged. Percy still believed he could fix his brother, reverse Medusa's poison, and turn back time. It was a painful reminder. Percy was still out there, ordering fire upon the European ships, but she was here, standing outside Percy's old royal chamber. A room Luke had taken over. Unlike Percy, Luke was not a coward of the past, and he was not afraid to tread into his brother's room.

The room was a coffin. A maw of stone that would swallow her whole. She felt dead, even on the threshold, hesitating to fully succumb to this place and the person who built it.

And there he was. His hand was gripping a letter opener once he discovered she'd seen him.

Annabeth's heart pounded so loudly she knew Luke could hear it.

His eyes traced over her in a way that was too familiar and too close, despite the yards between them. He focused on her throat, on the vein pulsing with all her fear. She expected him to lick his lips. Her hand flexed in vain, attempting to call up some weapons, or divine intervention, or _something._ She was weaponless after the fall, and her ribs still screamed.

Her hand strayed to her hip for the pistol Nico haragued her into wearing, but the holster was gone entirely, probably lost in the bridge collapse. She gulped again. She had no weapons at all.

And Luke knew it.

He grinned, teeth white and wicked. "Aren't you going to try to stop me?" he said, tipping his head like some curious puppy.

Her mouth felt dry when she spoke. "Don't make me do this, Luke." It came out raspy.

Luke just shrugged. Somehow he managed to make his simple gray clothing look like silk and fur and steel. He wasn't a King anymore, but no one seemed to have told him.

"I'm not making you do anything," he said imperiously. "You don't have to suffer this. You can stand right there, or even turn around. It makes no difference to me."

Annabeth forced another breath, stronger than before. "Don't make me kill you like this," she growled, sounding dangerous and lethal.

"What are you going to do, stare at me?" he shot back dryly. "I'm terrified."

It was a brash show, his forced nonchalance. She knew Luke well enough to see the truth in his words, the real fear weaving through his practice arrogance. His eyes darted, quicker than before, not over her face, but her feet. So he could move when she moved. Run when she lunged.

In spite of the dagger, he was without his weapons too.

She didn't tremble when she took the first, slow step, sliding into the prison of Percy's old room.

"You should be."

Luke stumbled back, surprised, almost tripping over himself. But he recovered quickly, the dagger tight in his hand as she continued forward. He mirrored her movements, stepping backward. The lethal dance was achingly slow, and they never broke their stares. They didn't even blink. She felt as if she was walking a tightrope over a pit of wolves, barely keeping balance. One wrong move and she'd fall to their fangs.

Or maybe she was the wolf.

She saw herself in his eyes. And his mother. And Percy. All they did to get here, in the middle of the end of his world. She lied and was lied to. Betrayed and was betrayed. She hurt people, and so many people hurt her. She wondered what Luke saw in her eyes.

"It won't end here," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. She was reminded of Chiron. "You can drag my corpse across the world, and it won't end any of this."

"Likewise," she replied, showing her teeth. She wondered if it was always supposed to be like this, the both of them, at each other's throats till the end. Percy would never hurt either of them. He liked to believe they were good, but they knew the truth. They knew they were both monsters, and they'd burn together.

The inches closed between them, in spite of his best efforts. She was more agile than he was, years scouring the black market catching up with her. "The gold dawn won't stop with me."

He offered a twisting smirk. "Then it seems we're both dispensable. We don't matter anymore."

She barked out a laugh. Annabeth had never mattered the way he still did. "I'm used to it."

"I like the hair," Luke murmured, filling the empty space. His eyes ran over the tangle of blonde and platinum—forced by the sun's harsh rays—spilling over one shoulder. She didn't reply. The last card he played was obvious, but it still stung. Not because she wanted what he offered, but because she remembered a girl who would have accepted it. She knew better now.

"We can still run." His voice deepened, letting the offer hang in the air. "Together.

She should've laughed at him. Twisted the knife. Made him suffer as much as she could in these last moments they had. Instead she felt some piece of her heart break for someone so irrevocably lost. And she felt true sorrow for the other brother in the midst of all this, who tried and failed. Who never deserved what was happening now.

"Luke," she sighed, shaking her head at his blindness. "The last person who loves you isn't standing in this room. He's out there. And you burned that bridge to ashes."

He went deathly still, face white as bone. Not even his icy eyes moved.

When she took another step, coming within arm's length, he didn't seem to notice. She balled a fist at her side, bracing herself.

Slowly, he blinked. And she saw nothing in him

Luke Calbourne was empty.

"Very well."

The dagger cut at her throat, swiping with vicious and blistering speed. She leaned backward, dodging the blow without thought. He kept coming, kept slicing, saying nothing. Her body reacted before her brain, all instinct as she deflected his strikes. She was faster than he was, and her arms swung in time with his movements, catching his wrists before he could do any damage with the tiny, wicked gleam of sharp iron.

Annabeth had nothing except her own fists and feet. Her focus was on keeping the dagger away from her skin, and she barely landed any blows of her own. She twisted, trying to trip him with a hooked ankle, but he stepped neatly over the attempt. Her first mistake, leaving her back exposed. She moved as he did, and a stab for her lungs became a long but shallow gash across her side. Hot, red blood welled up, filling the air with a copper tang.

She almost expected him to apologize. Luke had never truly delighted in her pain. But he gave no quarter. And neither did she.

Ignoring the spreading pain, she jabbed at his throat with a closed fist, hitting hard. He wheezed and stumbled, dropping to a knee. She stuck again, kicking him across the jaw. The momentum sent him sideways, his eyes wide and dazed as he spat blood in all directions. If not for the dagger, she would've used the opportunity to get her arms around his throat and squeeze until his body was cold.

Instead she leapt, using her weight to keep him pinned as she fought the fingers still clawed around the dagger hilt. He growled beneath her, in spite of the jaw, trying to force her off.

She had to use her teeth.

The taste of red blood poisoned her mouth when she clamped down on his fingers, cutting through flesh straight to the bone. His growls turned to wailing screams. The sound ripped into her, made worse by the effect of the hollow hallway. Everything hurt more than it should've.

She pushed through it and pried his fingers off, biting where she had to, until the dagger was hers. It was slick with his blood and hers, both red but so much worse, darker by the second.

Suddenly his other hand was around her throat, squeezing without any restraint, crushing the air from her windpipe. He was heavier than her and used his weight to fling her onto her back. One of his knees dug into her shoulder, keeping her dagger arm pinned. The other pressed into her collarbone, right over the brand he gave her. It shrieked and stung beneath the pressure, and she felt the bone crack with an agonizing slowness.

It was her turn to scream.

"I tried, Annabeth," he hissed, his cold breath washing over her face. Still struggling for air, she couldn't do much more than gasp and choke. Her vision split and spotted, leaving only his eyes above her. Too blue, too frozen, inhuman in their blankness. They were not the eyes of a water Prince. This was not Luke Calbourne. That boy was gone, lost. Whoever he was born as would not be buried with him.

Her neck ached, bruising beneath his fingers as blood vessels burst. She could barely think, her mind narrowing to the dagger still clenched in her fist. She tried to raise her arm again, but Luke's weight made it impossible. Tears pricked at her eyes when she realized this was how it ended. No power, no blades. She would die a damsel in distress, one of the thousands crushed beneath a royal crown. Luke's grip on her throat never loosened. If anything, it became tighter, crushing the muscles in her neck until she felt like her spine might've snapped clean.

The world dimmed, the spots across her vision spreading like black rot.

But Luke leaned. Slightly, in the smallest way. Putting more pressure on her broken collarbone. And less on her shoulder. Enough to free her arm.

She didn't think. She just swung wildly, blade ready, as his eyes faded.

They seemed sad and…

Satisfied.

…

When she came to, Nico was standing over her.

Kayla and Will too, both of them fretting above. Her abdomen felt like it was on fire.

"Try not to move," Nico advised. Too late. She tried to sit, nearly screamed, and laid back down. "You never do what you're told, do you?"

"Why change a lifetime of tradition?" Annabeth voiced, her tone hollow. "Do we have a casualty count?" she asked no one in particular.

"Not yet," Nico whispered. He eyed her carefully, knowing exactly what she wanted to ask, and yet he made her wait.

"Nico," she finally muttered.

"When we found you, you were bleeding to death. I didn't know… if Kayla could fix you… if you'd…" he said, his voice laced with pain. She had seen him dying before too. She supposed she had repaid the favor.

"And… Luke?" She could barely say his name.

Nico held her gaze, his expression unchanging. Giving no indication of an answer for an agonizing moment. Long enough for her to wonder what answer she was hoping to get. Which future she wanted to live in.

When he dropped his eyes, focusing on her hands, her blankets, anywhere but her face, she realized what he was saying.

Something in Annabeth unwound, a coil finally springing loose. She sighed and lied back, shutting her eyes as a storm of emotions rolled over her. All she could do was bear it as the world spinned.

Luke was dead.

Shame and pride battled in equal measure, as well as sorrow and relief. For a second, she thought she might actually throw up, but the nausea passed, and she opened her eyes again to find everything in its place.

Nico waited patiently.

"Where is the body?"

"Piper."

Annabeth nodded without thinking. As with Medusa, she'd need to see the corpse. To know it was well and truly finished. But his body frightened her more than Medusa's for obvious reasons. Death was a mirror, and to look at him like that… she was afraid she'd see herself. Or worse, see him as she thought he was.

"Does Percy know what I did?" Her voice broke as she spoke, suddenly fraught with emotion. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to calm herself. She refused to cry over him. She refused.

Nico merely watched. She wished he would hug her, or hold her hand, or maybe bring her something sweet to stuff in her mouth. Instead he pulled away to stand up. He looked at her with such pity, it made her wince. She didn't expect him to understand, and she didn't want him to.

Like Kayla and Will, he crossed to the door, and she felt suddenly abandoned.

"Nico—" she protested, until he turned the knob.

And someone else stepped into the room.

Percy filled the chamber with warmth, as if someone just lit a crackling fire. His gleaming armor was gone, replaced by simple clothing. Except the ring on his finger. He wore a mismatch of color, without a stitch of blue or white. Because they weren't his colors anymore. Nico slipped out behind him, leaving them alone.

Before she could even wonder if Percy heard her question, he answered it. "You only did what you had to do," he said, slowly taking Nico's chair. But he kept his distance, letting the inches stretch between them in a gaping rift.

It wasn't difficult to guess why.

"I'm sorry." He went watery before her as tears rose in her eyes. She killed his brother. She took him away. She killed a murderer, a torturer. An evil person, twisted and broken. A man who would have killed her if she hadn't stopped him. Killed everyone she loved. A boy, made into a monster. A boy with no chance and no hope. "Percy, I'm so sorry."

They both knew they would happen. They both knew Luke was beyond their help. It didn't stop the pain, though. And his was so much deeper than hers.

"What now?" he whispered, as if to himself.

Or maybe they were wrong. Maybe he could've been saved somehow. The thought cut her apart, and the first tear fell. Maybe she was just a murderer too.

Only one thing was certain. They would never know.

"What now," she replied, turning away.

She stared at the window. The sky was spotted with haze and weak starlight. Minutes stretched and passed. They didn't speak. No one came to see her, or find Percy to pull him away. She almost wished someone would.

Even in death, Luke sat between them both, a ghost painted in so many colors, and now nothing more than black and white. And he chose black.

Percy's fingers hesitantly slid towards her, but there was an inch between them.

They weren't happy, and their hands waited, unmoving between them—and yet they weren't unhappy either.

…

"You need to love him."

Annabeth's head snapped up in surprise. Drew. What was she doing here? She had been in hiding, and now Cecily trailed comfortably at her side. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together.

"I don't want to love him," Drew bitterly spat out.

Drew too, Annabeth slowly realized, had grown from the girl who would've done anything to hold a crown, to a girl who just wanted her own love. If Percy accepted the position of King, especially now that there was this unmistakable divide between her and him, then he would be married off, most likely to Drew, against both of their wills.

Once again, Drew did what was best for her. And Annabeth would always hate her, for all she'd done to her, for all she hadn't done, for making trades at her expense with Octavian and Luke, and yet Annabeth knew she would've done the same, would've looked out for the people she loved and no one else.

"I can't convince him of anything," Annabeth quipped, irrationally angry with Drew. Perhaps it was because even now Percy shielded Drew's secrets, another thing between herself and him.

"I can't do it," Drew said, almost desperate now. Cecily dropped her head at her side.

"I can't make him love me. I can't make him choose me," Annabeth's voice dropped. It was thick with realization. Percy could still choose King. Or he could run away again. And he still hadn't told her anything, not how he'd survived, not how anything had gone down, not where he'd been. He was bound to his secrets too. "I killed his brother."

"I know," Drew haughtily said. "Might be the first good thing you've done, Chase."

Annabeth let it go. "I'll promise you a place in Canada." She didn't want to be friends with her, but she wanted to be bigger.

"I don't need your charity," she said, but it was soft.

"It's not charity." She felt better knowing Drew was under her own country, voting, growing, not hiding.

Drew narrowed her eyes on her.

"Canada's free," Annabeth promised. Her eyes darted between Cecily and Drew. "Nico will be staying there as well. We all will." But maybe not Percy. Not if he said no. Not if he left. She wouldn't be enough for him to stay. He was running from his ghosts, and it wasn't until he stopped running and healed that he would come back to her. She didn't know him either, not anymore. She hardly knew herself, and she still remembered what it was like to stab Luke in the heart.

"I see," Drew whispered. For a moment, her facade fell apart, but then the glass stacked up once more. She raised her chin.

Annabeth was mildly aware of Piper watching from the side, gaping at her sister in surprise. They hadn't seen each other in a year and a half, at least.

Drew walked past Piper and Annabeth, both of whom let her go. Annabeth slumped against Piper, and Piper's face twisted into sympathy.

"He really thinks he can change things as King, Annabeth."

Annabeth was quiet. She really thought he could too. "But he doesn't want it."

"So tell him," Piper convinced her. "Keep him away from the crown."

"Maybe."

…

"You broke your promises." It was the first thing she had said to him in days. Percy was avoiding everyone, locked up in his cabin. The war still waged on, but Annabeth had chosen to let it go. It would end a few years, and she had lost too many to continue. Freedom would come, but she would not fight in the front lines. She needed to live.

Percy closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them once more, he was humorlessly smiling at her, his eyes meeting hers through his long lashes.

They sat on opposite sides of his cabin room, a gaping space between them both.

"I broke so many promises for you that you don't even know," he whispered hoarsely. "I promised to be a Prince, a King, a son, a brother, a husband, and I fell for stubborn Princesses instead."

"Percy."

"I know," he murmured, cutting himself off.

"What really happened?" Annabeth asked softly. "That day on the battlefield when you went under?"

"I thought I died," he said after a moment. "I was bloody and beaten. There were too many of them. And then all of a sudden, there she was."

"Drew?"

"Who else?" Percy whispered. "She didn't fight. She parted the crowd with a mere look. She would've made a fine Queen. But she would've drove me crazy. She wouldn't have made me a good wife, and I wouldn't have made her a good husband." The implication of Annabeth hung in the air, stunning the blonde. "They were afraid of her. I'm not sure why. I don't know what she told them. But she saved me, nonetheless. Took me to where she had been hidden. Offered me a deal. I took it."

"Why did she help you?" Annabeth pressed. It didn't make any sense.

"The day I chose you, the day I threw the crown away, I saved her," Percy answered her unknown question. "You killed my brother," he began, and Annabeth flinched, "so she didn't have to marry Luke. And you took me away from a crown. And so she was free. She was indebted to me. For choosing you."

Oh.

"And she got me the edit. For my father's death." Percy shut his eyes.

"Why? Isn't saving your ass debt repaid enough?"

"Let's just say she owed me a couple favors. She's absolved of me now, though. She's lethal, but she's honest, even if you don't believe me."

Annabeth soured. He was right. She didn't believe him. Drew was a cruel soul. "So where did she hide?" Would he tell her? Would he spill secrets for her? Did he love her enough still, even after Luke?

"I don't think I'm going to be King," Percy said instead. Annabeth fought her disappointment. Even now, he chose to hold Drew's secrets.

"Really?"

"I want to get away." Percy looked towards her, desperately. She gazed into his sea green eyes, and found herself empty at the hollowness in them. "I'm running away. I know."

Annabeth's breath hitched.

"Come with me," Percy softly requested. "I'm leaving tonight. My mother's coming, and Estelle, and Paul, and my uncle Chiron. We're going to Greece. Sally loves Greece, and I just… I want to step away from the spotlight, but I can't. Not yet. So I have to run away. Again."

Annabeth reached down for him, but her hand fell to her side. If she went with him now, they'd never last. He resented her for Luke's murder, and she resented him for even considering King, for faking his death. She glanced outside. It was almost dark. He would be leaving soon.

"Tell me not to go, and I won't," Percy whispered. It was dangerous, both of them together.

Annabeth swallowed hard. "I can't do that. Go."

"Annabeth."

"No, Percy." She shuddered at the choice she was about to make. "You're not beholden to this place or anyone else. You don't have to be King. You can run away. You _need_ to run away. If you leave, I will not think less of you. Nico won't think you less of a man, and Piper won't be disappointed in you, and I will not think you less of a brother, of a Calbourne, of anything. You need to do this for yourself. You need to get away before the people suck you back to a throne. You need to run as fast as you can." Every word hurt her, but it was true.

"But…" he dared to protest. "I can't."

"You have to," she insisted. "You don't have to be King. You have to go. I am standing here, and I am telling you that you are not responsible for this war. I am telling you that you need to get far away from this place. I will be in Canada. I'll always be there, any time you decide you want to come back. But I won't ask you to wait for me."

He would never fade out, even if he might want to. It was why they still wanted him as King. The people would follow him anywhere. And once upon a time, she might've also, but she was not that girl anymore.

He smiled sadly, and she was reminded of the look he gave her at that ball, when he had told her she knew he didn't belong.

Percy hesitated. "It's ironic, I suppose, where she went. The birthplace of your people." The wind coming in from the window blew through her hair.

Annabeth's heart stuttered in her chest. _My people_. Ashingtons? Intellectuals? No. It dawned on her, surely but slowly. Her lips curved up in a faint smile despite herself. He refused to break his promise to Drew, and yet he'd told her in the only way he could. He had left her a clue, a small idea he knew only she could pick apart and decipher.

Percy touched her hand one last time, and her palm stung as he walked away. The sky was pitch black outside. The air was cold, December biting at her ears and nose.

She ripped her eyes away from the boat docked at the Amazon shore, unable to watch him go. Watching his back disappear for good would only haunt her.

She sat in the windowsill for some time, and only then did she glance down at the object in her hand he'd left.

It was a gold seashell, still wet with some sand from the shore sticking to the sides. If she twisted it into the lamp light outside, it reflected the rainbow just the right way, no longer stuck in shades of grey.

And she closed her eyes.

…

All she could hear was the ocean.

The sun was rising over the horizon, and Annabeth stood atop the sandy dune, watching the turquoise water lap against where the water kissed the land, embracing tightly. The ocean was calm that morning.

If this were a fairytale, this would be the part where Percy appeared and Annabeth kissed him something fierce. Because they were supposed to live happily ever after like the best of fairytales. He would've never let her fake authority, condoning his abandonment, making up rules about what was okay just to save his life, to save _them_ , convince him to give up his family. He would never leave.

He would have known that without him, none of them would ever be as good. Annabeth, without a friend (or more?); and Nico, without a brother; and this land, without a story; and Piper, without her something real; they would all be a little bit less than they were before they knew him.

So he wouldn't leave. Not until she could have come with him. And she had never been less able to leave than she was now.

But this wasn't a fairytale, and he didn't appear. They stood there for a long time, her brother and her. And Annabeth wondered who Malcolm was thinking of because she didn't think she could guess correctly, not anymore.

He really left.

Because it was all that she could do.

And she didn't know if it was the right answer. But she could picture him sailing away, lonely and scared and safe. He had Chiron, who Annabeth missed with all her fucking heart, and others too, but Annabeth knew he was just as alone as she was. And even though this wasn't the ending she had wanted, the blonde felt like singing when she took Malcolm's hand and they stared out at the empty ocean.

…

Sometimes Nico still reminded her of Bianca, even if he was older now, even if his life had been much longer than his years. He had her dark hair and kind eyes, though he was quieter now, a different kind of quiet than he used to be. But sometimes he would smile, a tiny smile when Will said something stupid yet charming, and Annabeth knew it was going to be alright. Kayla would stay too. She had considered going with Chiron, but she had chosen to stay. She claimed she had no purpose unless she was healing others.

Sometimes Thalia still reminded her of Jason, even if she was older now, even if her life had been much longer than her years. She had his eyes, eyes she hadn't recognized until Percy had pointed out that they were siblings. She was nothing like Jason, but sometimes when she offered a small sad smile, the only indication that she shared Annabeth's pain, the burden felt a little lighter, and the blonde could breathe again.

Piper would squeeze her hand, and sometimes Piper would cry when it was dark out, and she thought nobody was paying attention, numb like Annabeth had become, but then the kind brunette would chase the dawn with her the very next morning on grand stallions like they had both always dreamed of. And she knew it was going to be alright someday.

Sometimes Annabeth thought about Frederick Chase, and she wondered if she should've missed him, wondered if she should've had more regrets, but she didn't, and that only made her feel worse.

Other times, Annabeth thought about Athena. She missed her mother more. Athena had never been affectionate, not like her brother, but Athena was a sign of familiarity, and even though Annabeth knew with certainty that the world was only getting better, she missed the old days occasionally. It was her fault. One of the many. Athena was in India now, on a spiritual journey of her own, learning so much more and soaking up information like a sponge. Like mother, like daughter.

And sometimes, Annabeth thought of Malcolm, even if he was here beside her. But he was never here, not really. Like her, he too was haunted by his ghosts, and until they both learned to be alone, they would never really learn to be together again. Their trust of each other had never shattered, not once through it all, but she couldn't bear to spread her pain to him, and he could not do the same to her. They would never be the same, not truly; she knew that too. But that too would heal. Malcolm would be okay, and he would hold her again like when they were younger, and he would kiss the top of her head, and curl her hair around his finger in that irritating fashion that he always did. Everything was temporary, and this pain, however heartbreaking, would also fade.

And sometimes… sometimes Annabeth allowed herself to think about Luke. Whenever she did, she wanted so badly to wish she had done things differently. Because maybe then everything wouldn't have turned to shit. But she couldn't. She couldn't regret loving him, because she suspected a piece of her would always be with him, as it was from the start. She couldn't regret killing him, even if it killed Percy, even if it killed _her_ , because it had to be done. Because nobody else had the guts to do it.

He was one of those things Annabeth didn't think she would ever be able to forget: not those piercing blue eyes, not that sandy blond hair, not that scar, not that grin, not his touch, not those manacles, none of it.

Some things, she supposed, were not meant to be forgotten, were meant to serve as a reminder of darker times and good times and everything in between. Some things, like scars, were not meant to fade.

The 'L' didn't burn as much as it had when it was first put on.

Annabeth was learning to remember her anger, and keep it close, but not let it overwhelm her, taking over her life.

Sometimes she really hated Octavian, really hated Luke too, and Queen Medusa, maybe even her own parents, and once in a while, even Percy, but it was getting better. She was only nineteen now, the same age as Malcolm was when all this shit started. She had a lot of life left, and someday maybe she would return to him, to her green-eyed boy, but first she had to grow, to know what it felt like to be alone.

Because that was why she had said no in the first place. Percy had asked her to come with him, to experience life with him, and even though he had known she was going to say no, it didn't hurt either of them any less when she had. But they wouldn't have lasted, Annabeth knew as much.

Too many ghosts.

He resented her for Luke, for having the strength to do what he could not; she resented him for his choice. When their internal ghosts left them one day, maybe it would be different.

She allowed herself to remember the past and to think of the future. Tomorrow, she would leave for Canada with Malcolm and the others. There, they could live in peace, in the life she had always longed for: a simple one, in a simple house, away from the bustle of the city and the commotion of the Canadian government. And everyone else would be there too, living nearby, close enough when she needed them, but far enough that she had room to grow, to breathe.

Last Annabeth had heard, Drew had moved to Toronto and she was living with her Duchess Cecily, because Canada was free for that sort of thing. Sometimes, Annabeth still hated Drew, hated her for everything she did to her, hated her for taking up so much of her mind when she was seventeen and younger and still stupid.

Piper, like Annabeth, needed her own escape to cope with the death of her parents (because though their death was for the good of the future, they're still their loving, nurturing parents, at least they were to Piper and Silena), and Jason, and just—all of it, and she was going to stay with her sister Silena for some time. She could help Silena grieve the death of her husband as well. Annabeth only wished the best for her friend and Silena too, and she knew it wasn't the last she would see of her.

People didn't say goodbye unless they wanted to see you again.

Now Annabeth sat down at the dinner table. Thalia was talking quietly with Reyna. Reyna was smiling a bit to herself, and Annabeth pretended to not notice their hands intertwined under the table, though she felt them tug on the pale tablecloth. Rachel had joined in, but she was louder, and she was laughing, her gorgeous, fiery red locks swept back, cascading like a waterfall. Rachel's optimism was infectious, and despite all they'd been through, Thalia and Reyna both cracked smiles. Will was holding Nico's hand under the table as well, and he seemed content enough, and Nico even smiled at Will once, a difficult feat to accomplish after Bianca. Hazel and Frank had gone back to Canada about four days prior, Leo and Calypso as well, and Rachel was eager to meet up with her friends once more.

Malcolm sat across from Annabeth, and his feet were tangled with hers, tapping against the ground, unsettled. Sometimes he soothed her nightmares. When she woke up screaming and even crying, he was there to smooth down her hair like when she was five, and he was seven, and he'd stay with her until she was asleep. Or he'd sleep next to her, their hands clasped in the dark like children, because he too couldn't sleep without seeing it all unfold all over again.

Rachel had turned to all of them now, and she was going on and on about this new girl who could take apart a tank and reassemble it in a sandstorm. Ever since she ran into her while at the market, Rachel couldn't shut up about her.

Of course, she was fucking twelve, a child prodigy, so Rachel had good reason for gushing, but it was still entertaining. Annabeth supposed that despite being an only child, Rachel had become some sort of makeshift older sister for the kid. Good for them both, really.

Annabeth smiled like she was listening, but she let herself drift off a little. She got like this in the evenings now. She stopped training (some things never changed), and nothing seemed real until she gave everyone a weak smile good night and went up and touched the glass of her window.

And something small and insignificant inside her shattered, just like every night, and feelings hit too hard for her to stand. She bent at the waist and clung to the windowsill. She wouldn't scream. She wouldn't throw herself against the walls until the supports gave and they fell into the ocean. She wouldn't think about swimming as hard as she could.

No. She would sit there with a pencil in hand, pretending that she would write instead of spending hours staring at a blank page, small insignificant memories of him in her other hand—letters, doodles, useless trinkets he had built from fidgeting about. She would think peaceful, practical thoughts about reading books and training and making idle chatter with the townspeople. She'd had enough excitement for a lifetime. At least, that's what she liked to tell herself.

She closed her eyes and listened to the ocean. It still smelled like him, but then again it always did.

She was thinking about sailing, to England, or France, or maybe even Greece. The way the wind would feel on her face and the sound of his voice screaming her name through his laughter. The waves would crash like applause.

God, she remembered when she used to be afraid of the ocean.


	32. Epilogue

**I**

**Annabeth**

_As much as you want to let the world go, it doesn't want to let you go. You're making history, kid; trust me._

When Malcolm told her six months prior she would be drawn back in again, that the world would not let her go so easily, she tried to believe him. Tried to believe her life would not be as empty as it had become through the years. And then it was her calling card. Only days before she turned twenty, the Canadians called upon her… and others. A gala. A simple gala. But she saw it for what it was: another puppet show. She had figured after her time in Luke's grasp, she was done playing doll, but… it was different now. No one could shove her into a little box anymore. She had grown. And so it began. She had helped tear apart nations, and now they would rebuild it together.

…

"When do you move out of the estate?" Silena asked, her black hair dark against the sunlight

"After the gala," Annabeth replied. The excitement in her voice was real. "It'll be good to finally come back." After nearly a year of a small cottage off in a more rural area of Canada, she knew Malcolm would also be equally as eager to have a proper home once more. A life of castles to cottages was a strange one indeed. They had bought a house, a beautiful house along the waterside of Canada.

Silena smiled kindly. "Are you living lakeside or slopeside?"

Annabeth curled a piece of hair around her finger, enjoying the feeling of soreness after a good workout. Her muscles ached, and her blood sung. "Slope. The lake town house they offered was beautiful, but I like being up high."

Where she could see, where no one could sneak up on her.

Silena nodded, thoughtful. "How is your brother adjusting?" Malcolm had always been close with their father and mother. Athena would come back in two months' time too to stay, hopefully for good. She had globe-trotted, and she was ready to face her children and the trauma the three of them experienced.

"Better than expected. He likes it here. And what's the alternative?" Epresh? Annabeth almost laughed. Neither of them would return to that place, not for anything short of Jason's return. The odd thought sobered her, and any delight from the training session against Nico faded away.

Silena noted the blonde's sudden change in mood. Her excitable air faded with Annabeth's happiness, and they both lapsed into easy silence.

In spite of the memories always threatening to surface. Annabeth liked being here too. With her brother, with some of her friends. With people who believed the world could change, because they had done it already. It made the future look less daunting.

At the rear gates to the palace, the other Canadians broke off. Nico waved first, his now tanned skin taking on a golden edge in the sunshine.

"Same time tomorrow?" Annabeth asked.

"If our schedule allows," Thalia muttered.

Nico elbowed her in the ribs, trying to draw a smile from the taciturn woman. "Of course, Annabeth, how could we forget?"

"You with your important meetings all week, whispering and dealing—" Thalia began.

"Tomorrow," Nico interrupted her, offering a small smile.

"Tomorrow," Annabeth echoed, watching them go. She swore she'd make time tomorrow. She didn't think she'd keep sane otherwise.

Drew tapped her foot loudly, impatient as ever. She inspected her nails, perfect as ever. "You ex-Amazons are always so sentimental."

"Once an Amazon, always an Amazon," Annabeth reminded her. "And besides, you should try it." The blonde rolled her eyes, pushing past her and into the still-lush grounds of the palace. A few guards nodded as they went. Drew even nodded back to a few, both ex-royal and normal. Annabeth wondered if she was starting to make friends in her new home—if she was even capable of making friends.

"Well, do you feel better, at least?" Drew asked, her breath fogging in the crisp air. Leaves crunch beneath their feet.

"Are you my bodyguard or my mother?" Annabeth grumbled, meeting only her twisted smirk. "Yes, I feel better."

"Good." She tapped her hands together, her rings clinging together like bells. "So it's been a while."

"Almost a year," Annabeth echoed, not knowing what else to say.

"You certainly seemed like you needed the time away."

Her eyes roved over Annabeth, as if Drew could see through the blonde's clothes all the way to her bones. Drew remembered what Annabeth looked like before, the last time she saw her. Drew had been in Canada only a few days, having fled Thasite and the iron grip of her relatives. Annabeth thought she was passing through, just another refugee of the war making her way west. Never did she think Drew would stay in a place like this, a country where she was equal to any regular. Equal to her.

Annabeth supposed Cecily was worth the price. Love was worth the price.

When Annabeth saw her, she had crossed half the world to be here, on foot, by boat, and finally by jet. Somehow Annabeth looked so much worse. Hollow, in shock, unable to sit still or slow down. They passed each other in the Canadian garden, and even Drew had known to give her space. For once, Drew had no snide remarks for her, and let her walk alone.

"I'm ready to be back," Annabeth admitted. Somehow, it was an easier thing to say to her than to Malcolm or Piper or Nico. Drew had seen her at her worst, at her darkest, when Annabeth had thought the rest of my life would be metal manacles and a cruel king's love.

Usually, Drew reserved her pride for herself. Today she spared some for Annabeth. "I don't like you," she replied, and it sounded like another admission. An acceptance. A step toward friendship.

Annabeth's response was automatic. "I don't like you either." It drew a rare, true smile from Drew. "So, what's next on my schedule? I know I skipped out on the trade meeting, but is there something else I have to be at before sunset?"

She blinked at Annabeth like she'd grown a second head. "How should I know?"

Annabeth almost laughed. "I figured you were the type of person to know all."

Drew shrugged slightly. "Usually true, but I don't have any idea where you're supposed to be right now."

"Brilliant."

The mischievous glint returned, brighter than ever. She grinned, showing teeth. "I do know where someone is, though."

Annabeth's stomach flipped. "Why do you keep nudging us towards each other?" Even earlier, at the first meeting with ex-Queen Piper McLean, Drew had looked between Perseus and her, multiple times.

"Well, before, it was to make sure he didn't marry me. Back during the first wars." A year ago. "I mean, could you imagine? No thank you," she said, pretending to retch. Annabeth pursed her lips as they stepped into the palace. "Fine, to each her own."

The change from crisp, cold air to the warm halls inside fell around Annabeth's shoulders like a blanket. The scent didn't change, though. Inside and out, the palace smelled like the fresh tang of pine.

"Why do you keep nudging now?" Annabeth dropped her voice. Several meetings were still in session, and too many people roamed the palace for her taste.

Drew did no such thing. "There aren't many who deserve to be happy. I'm certainly not one of them, but here I am." She led Annabeth around a corner, winding them toward the entrance hall. "I think you might deserve it, Chase."

Annabeth gaped at her. That was one of the kindest things another person had ever said to her—and somehow it was coming from Drew Tanaka.

Again, it felt easy to talk to her. Maybe because they weren't friends or family. She didn't have the same expectations of Annabeth, or the same fears for her well-being. There was no risk to her.

"He saw me the other night." The words fought their way out of Annabeth's mouth. "He wouldn't speak to me."

It felt shameful to say, shameful to even care about. She was the one who told him to leave, after all. She told him to move on if he wanted to. _I won't ask you to wait for me._

And yet he didn't say a word.

When Annabeth looked at her, she expected judgement. There was nothing but Drew's usual detached sneer.

"Are you physically incapable of talking to him first?" she drawled.

"No," Annabeth muttered, sullen.

Drew flounced off again, a bit of a spring in her step. Her rings jingled again as she snapped her fingers, gesturing for Annabeth to follow.

"I think you need a drink, Annabeth Chase."

The sector of Canada was lively beneath the sunset, looking out over the lake waters from a man-made cliff. Lanterns crossed over the pedestrian streets, glowing brightly already. Many bars and restaurants spilled out onto the sidewalks, their chairs and tables filled with patrons returning from work. Laughter and music washed over Annabeth, both foreign sounds. Part of her wanted to turn around and go back to some quiet corner of the palace. The noise was almost too much, grating on her nerves. Every happy shout could've been a scream, and the smash of a glass somewhere made her entire body jump.

Drew put a cool hand to Annabeth's arm, grounding her. This wasn't a battlefield. It wasn't a royal palace either.

It reminded Annabeth of royal cities where places like this would've never allowed commonfolk to enter, let alone serve them. But both kinds of blood were here. Many still had their military uniforms, either coming off shift or enjoying break time. She recognized the colors of politicians too, seeking refuge from the delegations. One of the bars was quieter than the rest, and dimmer, full of alcoves clustered around a main bar. More like a tavern than a cosmopolitan meeting place.

And, of course, that was where Percy was sitting, his back to the street, half a drink in hand. She'd know his broad silhouette anywhere.

She glanced at herself, her velvet clothing discarded for a training suit. There was dried sweat on her body, and her hair was probably frizzy.

"You look fine," Drew said.

Annabeth huffed at her. "Usually you're a good liar."

Thankfully, she didn't argue and set off toward the loudest, shiniest, and most boisterous bar on the street. A flash of scarlet rippled at a seemingly empty table on the curb, and suddenly Cecily was sitting there, a glass of wine in hand. Drew didn't look back as she waved Annabeth on. The Ashington scoffed to herself—that meddling woman probably had her shadow girlfriend keep tabs on Percy so she could shove her at him when he was alone.

Suddenly Annabeth wished she had more time. To think of something to say, to rehearse. To figure out what the hell she wanted. She could barely speak to him this morning, and the sight of him last night left her haunted. What would this do to both of them?

Only one way to find out.

The seat next to him was empty, and high up. As she climbed into it, she thanked her body for remembering its agility. If she fell out in front of him, she really might have died of embarrassment. But Annabeth stayed level, and before he could even turn to look at her, she had his glass in her hand. She didn't care what it held. She just drank, steadying her nerves. Her heart hammered in her chest.

The liquid was slightly sour, but cold and refreshing, with an edge of cinnamon. It tasted like winter.

Percy stared at her like he'd seen a ghost, his sea-green eyes wide. Annabeth watched as his pupils dilated, eating up all the color. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned, hanging open to the fresh air. He didn't need a scarf or coat to keep him warm right now, just his drink and his body heat.

"Thief," he said simply, his voice deep.

Annabeth looked back at him over the rim of his glass, finishing the drink.

"Obviously."

The familiar words hung between them, meaning more than they should've. They felt like an ending, and a beginning. To what, she couldn't say.

"Is the great Perseus Calbourne skipping out on his delegation?"

She reached, putting the glass back in place in front of him. He didn't move, forcing her arm to graze across his. The simple touch exploded through her, down to her toes.

The bartender passed by, and Percy motioned with two fingers, silently ordering for both of them. "I'm not a Prince anymore. I can do as I like," he said. "Sometimes. Besides, it's another trade debate right now. I'm no use."

"Me neither."

It's a relief to know that, for now, no one else was relying on her. Not to speak, stand, or be someone else's flag bearer. When the bartender put a full glass down in front of her, Annabeth drank half of it in one gulp.

Percy watched her every move, a soldier surveying a battlefield. Or an enemy. "I see you've learned drinking."

She grinned, shrugging. "Had to do something to pass the time up north."

Percy sipped more politely and wiped the foam from his lips. "How was it?"

The valley beckoned, even now. The empty wilderness, the mountains, the quiet of falling snow beneath a full moon. It was a good place to forget yourself, to be lost. But she couldn't do that anymore. "It was good for me. I needed . . ." Annabeth bit her lip. "I needed to be away."

He furrowed his brow, watching every tick of her face. "And how are you?"

"Better." Not perfect. Not whole. She would never be whole again. His eyes darkened, and she knew he saw that in her. He felt it in himself. "I still don't sleep properly."

"Neither do I," he replied quickly, forcing another sip of beer. Annabeth remembered his nightmares, some quiet, some thrashing. About his father dying at his own hand. She still couldn't imagine what that must've felt like. And now Annabeth betted he dreamt about Luke. The body he found, her wound in his belly. She dreamed about him too.

"I try not to think about him," Annabeth whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. A sudden chill blew over her. From Percy or the mountain, she couldn't say. "It doesn't work."

Another gulp of his drink. He broke first, looking away from her, his gaze a tsunami. "I know." After a long moment, his eyes swept back to her. The sorrow cleared from his face. "So what's next?"

She wasn't sure what he was asking, so she answered the easiest interpretation of the question.

"Proper resettlement. Malcolm's supervising a move to a townhouse of our own, up the slope." She pointed over his shoulder, gesturing in the general direction of their new home. "He said it has a beautiful view, and I guess it's close to where Nico and I can train."

One side of his mouth drew up in a grin. "I figured the battle cries up the mountain weren't natural."

She returned the smile and gestured to her ragged appearance, sweat and all. "In case you couldn't tell."

"You look beautiful. You always do." He said it so nonchalantly, then took another sip of his drink without blinking or breaking his gaze.

Cold air whistled past her teeth as Annabeth sucked in a breath, a last gasp before the plunge. Her grip tightened on the glass in her hand, until she was afraid it might shatter. "You saw me last night," she whispered, her voice almost lost in the tavern.

An emotion she couldn't name shadowed his face. "Yeah."

She hoped for some clue in his voice or expression, but she was left to stumble in the dark for understanding. "Why didn't you say anything?" she asked, trying not to sound desperate. Annabeth couldn't tell if it worked.

He forced his trademark grin, lopsided and easy. "You wanted me to wake up half the palace, including your brother?"

"That's not why." At least she knew how to see through his charm by now.

A blush bloomed over his cheeks. She unsettled him as much as he unsettled her. Frowning, he took another drink of his beer. A long one, as if he could just wait her out. Fat chance, Calbourne.

She didn't waver, staring until he couldn't avoid the question anymore.

"I figured you needed every second you could get," he admitted, biting out the words. As if there was shame in them. "I didn't want to rush you."

His warmth rippled over her, tentative and searching. "Into what?"

"Into making up your mind, Annabeth," Percy huffed, throwing up one hand in exasperation. Like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Annabeth swallowed around the tightness in her throat, biting her lip. He noted every movement in her, watching her face like a battlefield. Looking for an advantage, looking for opportunity. "I did a lot of thinking up at the valley," she said. She felt like she was balancing on a cliff, ready to tip in either direction, with no idea how far the drop might be.

He didn't say a word. _I won't ask you to wait for me._ The thoughts were haunting.

"I would certainly hope so," he said, laughing darkly. He even shook his head, then took another gulp. His frustration didn't last long, quickly melting into apprehension. Annabeth shivered as his eyes darted over her, his lips parted. "And?" he added quietly, as if holding his breath.

"And I don't know. I still don't know." Before he could react, her head bowed, and she looked at her hands twisting in her lap. If anyone at the tavern was listening or even looked their way, Annabeth didn't notice. Again, the world had narrowed to him and only him. At first she clenched her teeth, to hold back the words rattling in her throat. _No,_ she thought. _You don't have to do that with him._ "I missed you terribly," she whispered. "I was so afraid to speak to you this morning."

The heat grew, cocooning her from the cold air of the mountain. "I was afraid last night," he murmured.

Her head snapped up to find him leaning closer. The edge of her vision swam. "And now?" she asked, feeling breathless.

He didn't flinch, his face stone, his eyes fire. "Terrified."

She was all lightning, her nerves crackling beneath my skin. "Me too."

"Where does this leave us?" One of his hands brushed hers on the bar top, but didn't linger.

She could only shake her head. She didn't know.

"Let me simplify." He licked his lips, and his voice took on a warrior edge, resolute and unyielding. "In a perfect world, without war, without the reconstruction, without the Europeans or the Amazons or any other obstacle you can think of, what would you do? What would you want for us?"

Annabeth sighed, waving him off. "It doesn't work like that, Percy."

He never wavered, only leaning farther into her space, until their noses were just inches apart. "Humor me," he said neatly, as if carving every letter.

Her chest tightened. "I suppose I would ask you to stay here."

His eyes flashed. "Okay."

"And I would hope that, in a perfect world, every time you looked at me, you wouldn't see your brother's corpse." The last word came out hoarsely, broken apart. Annabeth lowered her gaze, looking anywhere but his face. She settled on his fingers as they twitched, betraying his own pain. "And every time I looked at you, I wouldn't see him, and what he could have been. If I could have . . . done more."

Suddenly his hand was beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His touch was flame, almost too hot to bear. "I don't see him every time I look at you," he said. "Do you really see him every time you look at me?"

Sometimes, yes.

Every time? Now?

Annabeth searched him, her eyes weaving back and forth over every inch of skin she could find. Sure, callused hands. The veins of his exposed neck. A shadow of stubble already spreading over his cheeks. Strong brows, straight nose, the forever crooked smile. Eyes that were never Luke's.

"No," she told him, and she meant it. "Did you wait, Percy?"

His fingers weaved through hers as he grinned. "I'm still waiting."

This must've been what it felt like for a bird to fly. Somehow her stomach dropped and leapt at the same time. Despite the warmth of him all around her, Annabeth began to shiver. "I can't make promises," she sputtered hastily, already trying to get ahead of the admission they had both made. "We don't know where the world is going. My family is here, and you have so much to do back east—"

"I do," he said, nodding. "I am also very good at flying jets."

She couldn't help but laugh. "You and I both know you can't just commandeer a jet when you want to see me." Though the thought did make her heart skip a beat.

"You and I both know you aren't going to stay put here either," he retorted, and his free hand went to her chin again. Annabeth didn't push it away. "The future won't let you. And I don't think you can let yourself sit still much longer."

The words continued to spill out, as quickly as they popped into her head. Obstacles in their way, problems to be solved. "That doesn't mean I'll be anywhere close to the States, if and when I do decide to get involved with all this again."

Percy just grinned wider. For a moment he was a second sun, beaming warmth all over her. It broke and re-formed her heart. "If geography is really the only thing standing in our way, then I consider this settled."

Sighing, Annabeth allowed just a bit of the tension in her to release. She relaxed into his hand, angling her head. Could it really be this easy? "Do you forgive me?"

His eyes darkened, and his smile seemed to fade. "Have you forgiven yourself?"

Again he looked her over, hunting for an answer. Ready for her to lie.

It took all her strength not to.

"No," Annabeth whispered, expecting him to pull back. To turn away. "I don't know if I can."

He had his own demons, as many as her. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't want to shoulder the burden of hers too. But he only tightened his grip, until she couldn't tell where her fingers ended and his began.

"That's okay," he said simply, like it was just so obvious. "We have time."

Annabeth blinked as she felt herself fall from the cliff, the balance finally tipped.

"We have time," Annabeth echoed.

Her heartbeat thumped, a steady rhythm. The electricity in the walls, in the lights, hummed with energy. The air whipped around her ears. The stars twinkled above. And then she simply shut it all out, plunging the tavern and the street into embracing darkness. It was as easy as breathing. Voices around them rose in her imagination, but she ignored them, focused on Percy instead. No one could see them now.

His lips met hers slowly, a steady invitation. He always let her set the pace, always gave her a chance to step back. Annabeth had no intention of slowing down, or stopping. The sounds of the tavern faded away around her, and her eyes slid shut until the only sensation was the feel of him.

If Annabeth could've held it back forever, she would've.

When it all returned, buzzing back to life, she pulled away first.

He lingered, reluctant, then smirked as he reached for his money. But Annabeth had already left some on the countertop, her hands quicker than his ever would be. They grinned at each other. She wished she still had the coins he gave her, that night when she stood in the shadows and waited for someone to see her for who she was.

Annabeth took his hand and led him back up the mountainside. To his room, to hers, to the forest. To the sea or fire. It didn't matter.

She was almost twenty. She had nothing but time. To choose, to heal.

To live.

* * *

**II**

**Percy**

By the time the gala caught them, Percy would've rather slept through the evening. And it really did feel like a predator, crouching at the end of the week, waiting to pounce. He'd had more than his fair share of balls, parties, and overblown celebrations in his lifetime. He knew how this went, and he knew how boring, exhausting, and otherwise nauseating this night would be. After their days filled with meetings and debates, small talk with the delegates would be salt in an open, oozing wound.

At least he was not alone here. Annabeth hated this as much as he did, but when he suggested they both conveniently come down with sickness, she soaked his hair with some new invention of hers. They spent enough time together. People would've believed it.

But she was right. They owed it to the alliance, to their delegations, and to themselves to make a show of this. In the end it was just a party, and maybe they could hunt down a little fun in the midst of it all. Not to mention, Rachel had the kitchens working all week. At the least, he would leave tonight very well fed. Besides, he'd rather not risk Sally's wrath or Chiron's gentle disappointment. Both had worked too hard this week, especially his mother. She settled after their first meeting, doing her best to bridge the gap between the royals and the rest of the alliance. Without her work, and Reyna's too, they might've had another rebellion on their hands, with more nobles ready to join the Secession. Instead, they had allies.

Tonight she intended to bask in her small victories, bedecking herself in the old jewels she once wore as a Queen. As they waited for Chiron and Kayla, she inspected herself in the mirrors of their salon, turning back and forth to let her water-colored gemstones catch the light. Her long, flowing blue gown seemed to dance as she whirled.

"Chiron tells me you're going to be staying on a few days after the gala," she said to her reflection, though the words were meant for him.

Percy had been ready for half an hour, he was almost asleep on the couch when she spoke. Her voice jolted him back, and he sat up, sharp as ever in his plain black suit. Only the badge on his collar, the joined circles in blue and white, adorned his clothing.

"Yes," he replied after gathering himself. Her eyes followed him in the mirror. "A few weeks, I think. Then I'll head back to the States and return to work."

Percy's body tightened, bracing for a motherly inquiry. Instead Sally just fixed her hair, smoothing her graying locks back behind her ears. She drew out her response, making him wait with the grace of an old Queen.

"Good," she finally said, and Percy nearly fell out of his seat. "You've earned a break."

"I—I suppose so, yeah," he sputtered, surprised. She knew who he was staying with, and why. Annabeth Chase was her favorite topic of inquiry and yet… nothing. "Thanks."

"Of course," she said. His mom grins as she turned around, amused by his shock. "You might not think it, but I'm proud of you, Percy. What you've done, what you continue to do. You're a young man, and you've accomplished so much with your time." Her footsteps were soft, muffled by the rich carpets of the salon. The couch barely sank as she sat next to him, one lined hand taking his. "You're strong, my dear son. Too strong. You deserve the happy moments when you find them. And all I want, beyond anything else, a crown or a country, is for you to live."

Percy's throat threatened to close, and he had to look away from her, if only to hide the sharp sting of tears. "Thank you," he forced out, focusing on a spot in the carpet. As much as he had wanted those words from her, ever since she "died" when he was a child, they weren't easy to hear or accept.

Her grip on his fingers tightened, forcing him to look at her. "I've lived through the rule of four Kings. I know greatness—and sacrifice—when I see it," she said. "Your father would be proud of you. In the end."

When Chiron and Kayla finally emerged, they were good enough to ignore his red-rimmed eyes.

With the delegations out of their uniforms and in finery, it was easy to pretend this was just a party. Not simply another meeting veiled by silk, liquor, and roving plates of stupidly tiny foods. At least Canada wasn't as rigid as old Thasite or its court. He didn't have to wait to be announced, and Percy descended into the grand ballroom with the rest of the delegates, all of them moving like a school of jewel-colored fish.

The chamber can't compare to Thasite's, or even Epresh's. Royals had the edge when it came to splendor, but he hardly minded. Instead of white molding and gilt frames, the long ballroom had polished timber arches and brilliant cut-glass windows looking out on the valley as night fell. The fire of sunset sparkled off mirrors that made the space seem grander and bigger. Percy looked across the floor, searching for familiar faces.

Annabeth's brother and Frank would be easiest to spot, tall as they were. They weren't here yet, so likely she wasn't either. The premier was, of course, greeting delegates as they filtered into the room. Thalia stood proudly at Reyna's side, waving over servants as they passed. Percy watched as she nearly force-fed one of the old high house members a tiny portion of salmon.

Drew had Cecily hanging on her arm, the two of them hovering near the string band that was still warming up. When the violinist raised his instrument, the pair of them begin to dance in perfect rhythm. As always, Drew managed to sparkle in the most threatening way. Her gown was beaten purple rose, sculpted to her form but somehow fluid. The color looked good on her, warming up her otherwise cold appearance. Cecily, on the other hand, seemed to be playing the part of a winter queen, her red hair flames as always, made even more bright by her pale skin, a light blue suit, and silver lipstick.

If anything was proof of the new world, the new possibility they could have, the Raya siblings were. First Drew, once meant to be his Queen and his burden, then a Princess of a hostile kingdom—now a soldier of an equal nation, with the woman she loved at her side. And her sister, heir to a throne as much as I was, nearly crushed by the expectations of a similar father—Silena was here too, oathed to defend all she was raised to destroy. And Piper, sweet, forgotten Piper, no longer forgotten. She was no longer Queen, not really; there was no use for the Amazons anymore, just as Artemis had always strove for, but she was in the front lines of the Canadian council alongside Rachel Elizabeth Dare, and she had found her pirates to battle, and her horses to tame. All three had so many sins behind them; some had no right to forgiveness or a second chance. But they found it, and the world was better for having them.

Like Annabeth, Percy couldn't help but think of Jason when he saw them. He was her best friend, and Percy mourned him as well, but he couldn't hate the Rayas' cousins for what they did. After all, he had done the same. Taken siblings and loved ones, killed for what he was told to believe. How could he condemn others without condemning himself?

Behind him, Chiron and Kayla kept watch, already halfway through their first drinks. "Just doing our duty," Kayla quipped, catching his eye.

"Thanks," Percy replied, grinning.

The pair of them pledged to keep any delegates away from him as long as he wanted, to give him time to breathe. Today was the worst of all: Percy spent most of it policing a shouting match between an Amazon general and one of Europe's transport ministers.

"Behind you, Percy," Chiron said and pointed his chin back up the stairs. From their spot on the floor, they had an excellent view of the crowd as it descended, and it didn't take Percy long to pick them out.

Malcolm wore a dark grey, white-vined coat—neutral colors for a neutral man. Percy found strange relief to see such familiar faces. Nico was walking with him, still dressed in black, though Percy suspected that was simply because that was Nico, not because he was rebelling against freedom. Will laughed at something, grinning broadly over his blue and green coat.

Annabeth was dressed in white too, neutral at its finest. Percy had never seen her in the sheer silk overlaid over a crisp white sleeve. She seemed like an angel, though he knew she was anything but.

She smiled just for him as she walked, careful to keep the hem of her skirt in check on the stairs. The many candles danced above her, making her glow. Percy waited patiently, letting the rest of the crowd break around him in a river. If someone tried to speak to him, he didn't notice. His focus was on one person in the room.

A flush colored the tops of her cheeks, the perfect complement to the strawberry color of her lips. And the curl of freshly washed hair. Percy couldn't help but smile like an idiot, especially when she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The stones glimmered there, different colors in the earring, for her brother, for Jason, and for him. The seagreen gem winked across the room, a star Percy would follow anywhere.

When she reached the floor, Percy didn't move, letting her maneuver carefully around her mess of friends. They spotted him and offered polite nods, better than he felt he deserved. Malcolm more polite of all the ex-Amazons, offering a smile, while her Reyna pointedly looked at the ceiling. Percy didn't mind. He had time with them. He had time with her.

"I have to say, I expect more from you," Annabeth said, stepping up to me. She ran a hand down the lapel of his suit, letting her fingers trace the buttons before finding the badge on his collar. Her touch, even through the clothes, made him shiver. "You look like you're dressed for a quiet night in."

"I wish," Percy muttered, closing his hand over hers.

She squeezed his fingers. "I wager we make it thirty minutes or so."

As much as he enjoyed the thought of stealing away the night with her, his stomach growled in disagreement. They could've had food brought up to his room, but that just seemed rude, and certainly Rachel would see that they were sent the worst of the kitchen scraps.

"And miss dinner?" Percy balked. "No thanks. If I'm going to suffer, I'm going to at least get something out of it."

She pulled a face but nodded in compliance. "Good point. But if she runs out of steak again, I'm leaving."

Percy laughed quietly, wanting to pull her closer, regardless of propriety. But tongues were already wagging about them, and the last thing they needed was a gossip circle about their status. Not that they themselves could even agree on that. No promises, as Annabeth said. They were simply taking things as they came, with their priorities and boundaries starkly drawn.

"Are you all ready for next week? Did Sally say anything?" Annabeth looked at him, her lips pursed, prepared for the worst. She searched for any hesitation in Percy's answer, knowing all his tells.

Percy smiled wider. "Believe it or not, she gave me her blessing, no questions asked."

"To go up to the cabin when the weather breaks?" She blanched, her eyes darting to pick out his mother in the crowd. "I'm impressed."

"I haven't told her about the valley, but I doubt she'll care either way. It's not exactly easy for me to get frostbite."

"Unless you piss me off and I lock you out in the cold."

Before he could laugh her off, Nico and Malcolm appeared on either side of them, almost leering. "Don't think she won't," Nico warned, his brow furrowed.

Malcolm bobbed his head in agreement. "I almost lost a toe."

"And you would have deserved it," Annabeth snapped, shooing both of them off with an exasperated grin. "So, are you going to make me dance?"

Elsewhere, the string band was in full swing, serenading a floor teeming with dancing couples of various skills. Percy glanced at them, remembering the last time he did this. Annabeth was there, on Luke's arm, dancing steps only moments after she'd danced with Percy, fighting for dominance.

She felt the memory as he did, both of them lost to watching the floor. Her smile faded, as did his, and they weathered the storm of loss and regret together. It was the only way through it.

"No," they said in unison, and turned away.

They didn't stay glued. That was not her way, or his. She went where she wished through the gala, as did he. As much as Percy hated it, he made the rounds he had to, thanking members of the delegations for their time and expertise. Chiron did it with him, at least, his smile unfailing. Once or twice. Despite all his training for battle, the runs with Annabeth every morning, and his rigorous workouts, Percy flagged long before she did.

"Unless you're particularly invested in dessert, I think you can call it a night," his uncle muttered, his grip gentle on Percy's shoulder. "You look ready to drop."

"I certainly feel it," Percy whispered back. As with training, the ache in him, the exhaustion, was the good kind. This pain accomplished something. "Where's Annabeth?"

"I believe she's scolding Nico for ripping his dress jacket. Unlike you, she has some stamina left."

She always did.

"Should I get her for you?" he added, looking over Percy with concern. "I can let her know you went up early—"

Percy waved him off. "No, it's fine, I can wait her out. Nico certainly deserves it, after all the work Piper put in, arranging expensive silks."

Chiron and Percy had the same smile, a crooked slash across their faces. He looked at Percy fully, eyes searching his. Now Percy realized how much he looked like his mother, and for a moment, his heart broke at the reminder of how he used to need to know her.

"It's good to see you like this," Chiron said, putting both his hands on Percy's shoulders, forcing him square to him. "I knew you'd find your way back to Annabeth, but I did have my fears for a while."

Percy glanced down at his feet, sighing. "Me too," he said, chewing his lip.

Chiron's grip on him lessened and he stepped back, fading into the kindly uncle Percy knew—and not the haunted man he was. "Percy, it is a rare man who is willing to look at himself and see what truly stands. A rare man indeed." Percy tried and failed not to blush furiously, heat smoldering in his cheeks. Chiron ignored his embarrassment, or he simply didn't care. "You would have made a good King, but never great. Not like you are now. A great man who needs no crown."

Percy's insides twisted. How could Chiron know who he was? What he might be in the future? Who he could become?

It was a worry, Percy supposed, everyone carried. Himself, Annabeth, even his uncle. They were chosen to some kind of greatness, and cursed to it.

"Thank you, Chiron," Percy forced out, overcome again.

Chiron clapped him on the shoulder, voice dropping. "This isn't over, but you know that, don't you? It won't be for years. Decades, maybe."

"I know," Percy replied, feeling the truth of it in his gut. The Europeans, the Asians, the Royal Secession. No matter how strong this alliance was, there would always be someone to challenge it—and the world they were fighting to build.

"History will remember you, mark my words," Chiron said, now steering Percy toward the terrace. Outside, Annabeth had Nico by the scruff of his collar, forcing him to bend down so she could shout at him.

"Make sure it remembers you well."

…

It was always the same dream.

Worse.

And always the same thing.

Luke, alone on that island, standing just out of reach no matter how hard Percy tried to move.

…

She didn't want to come with him. And Percy had rather she didn't.

He needed to do this alone.

…

The fog lifted slowly. He wished it wouldn't. He wished visibility would be too poor for a landing, and he'd have to turn back to the mainland.

Percy could've always lied and turned back anyway. No one would've questioned it. No one would have cared if he made it to Movae, the small island, or not. No one would've even known.

No one but Percy.

And him.

The island was gray this time of year, as the autumn days bled toward winter. It barely stood out in the steel-colored ocean, little more than a smudge against the rising sun. Percy buzzed the northern cliffs, maneuvering his small dropjet with a few easy movements of the controls. It looked the same as it did last year. Percy tried not to think, to remember. He peered down at the landscape, focusing on that instead. Few trees, the dunes, slopes of yellowing grass, the docks of the small harbor, the abandoned base—it unfurled below him in a second. The runway bisected the island and made for an easy target. He tried not to look at the squat barracks as he wheeled the dropjet into position, its propellers whipping up a cloud of sand and dune grass. This place held enough bad memories—Percy could only handle so many at a time.

Before he could change his mind, Percy dropped altitude. The landing was rougher than it should've been, the craft jarring as it touched down. But Percy was eager to be finished, and his hands shook, even as he flipped the necessary switches and levers. The roar of the propellers lessened as they slowed but didn't stop. Percy wouldn't be here long. He couldn't bear it.

Chiron offered to come, as did Sally. He refused both.

The island was without any sound but the wind in the grass and the seabirds calling out over the water. Percy was tempted to whistle, just to make some human noise. It was odd, knowing he was the only living person on the island. Especially with the remains of barracks and such human memories all around.

Mavae had been without people since the Amazons evacuated, fearing a raid after Annabeth's capture. They still hadn't come back. While the base had been worn by wind and the changing seasons, the rest of the island looked content to be left alone.

Percy's feet followed the path from the runway, winding into the tall grass and up the gentle hills. Soon the trail faded, gravel giving way to sandy soil. There were no markers to lead the way—only people who knew what they were looking for would find him.

There was talk of burying him elsewhere. He asked to be buried with his mother, but he did not specify a place. Medusa was on Mavae, in a shallow grave. Despite the state of decay, she would have been easy to dig up and move to the mainland. Of course, there was opposition to the idea. Not only because of the gruesome nature, but because, as Chiron quietly pointed out, he didn't want Luke's grave to be well known or easily accessible. It could become a rallying point or a monument, giving strength to anyone who might take up his cause.

In the end, they decided Mavae was best. An island in the middle of the ocean, so isolated that even Luke might find peace.

The loose ground shifted beneath Percy, sucking at his boots. The steps became more difficult, and not only because of the terrain. He forced the last few yards and crested the rise beneath the gray light of autumn. He could smell rain, but the storm hasn't hit yet.

The field was empty. Even the birds didn't come here.

At first glimpse of the stones, Percy dropped his eyes, focusing on his feet. He didn't trust himself to keep walking if he had to watch it get closer. The dream rattled in his head, haunting him. Percy counted off the last few feet, looking up only when he had to.

There was no silhouette, no impossible shadow of a lost boy waiting to be found.

Medusa's headstone was unmarked, a single gray slab already worn smooth by the wind. There would be no record of her here. Not her name, not her house. Not a word of who she was in life. She didn't deserve a memory. She stole so many others'.

Percy refused to give Luke the same treatment. He deserved something at least.

His stone was milky white, with rounded edges. The letters were cut deep, some already filled with dirt or dead grass. Percy cleaned them out with a few swipes of his fingers, shivering as he touched the cold, damp stone.

_LUKE CASTELLAN_

_Beloved son, beloved brother._

_Let no one follow._

He was without his title, with little more than his name. But every word on the stone was the truth. They loved him—and he strayed down a path no one else should pursue.

Even though Percy was the only person on the island, the only one for miles and miles, he couldn't find the strength to speak. His voice died; his throat tightened. He couldn't say good-bye to him if his own life depended on it. The words simply wouldn't come.

Percy's chest tightened as he bent a knee, bowing over the grave. Percy kept one hand to the stone, letting it flood him with sickly cold. Percy expected fear—he was standing over two corpses. Instead there was only grief.

 _I'm sorry_ raced through his head, a hundred times, a thousand times. Memories of him flashed just as quickly, from when he was a young boy to the last time Percy saw him, and sentenced him to die. Percy should have found another way. Percy cursed himself, and not for the first time this morning. He could have kept him alive somehow. There was a chance. Even in the now States, during the siege. Something could have been done. There must have been a way—and Percy just couldn't find it.

Some days, Annabeth told him to move past it. Not to forget, but to accept what had been done. Some days, she bled with him, retreating to blame herself as he did the same. And some days, Percy could only blame him, blame Medusa, blame his father Poseidon. Percy was just a boy too. What was he supposed to do?

The wind turned icy, a sudden gust howling through his jacket. Percy tightened against the cold, letting numb cold flood his chest.

Maybe he should have burned him. Given his body to flame, and let the rest of him go where it willed, carried on the wind.

But like always, Percy could not let him go. Even now, he could not let Luke go.

He never would.

Percy's face was already wet when the rain came.

* * *

**III**

** 2020  **

"Quit shining that damn light; I'm coming, for fuck's sake."

She grinned, her teeth gleaming from the warm glow of the flashlight. She obediently shut it off.

He slammed the glass of the window upwards, scowling at her from his bedroom window. "Yes?" she saw him mouth, the audio coming through the phone held up to her ear.

"Oh, don't be like that," she teased, cocking her head to one side. He shot her a withering glare.

"It's four in the morning," he pointed out.

"Thanks for the time."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"I swear to _god_ I will throw a book at your head."

"Into this window at my face from yards away? Your pathetic, skinny little arm? I'd like to see you try," she dryly remarked. He wasn't even close to skinny, but that was hardly the point.

"Fuck off," he whisper-yelled into the receiver. She snickered. "I swim."

"Let's go on an adventure."

"I'm wearing PJs."

"I bet you look adorable."

"I'm not even wearing pants."

"Say that again, but look me in the eye." She peered across the green, stifling a laugh when he reached for the curtains framing his window, using them to cover himself more. "Are you going to the rally tomorrow night?"

"Hell no. You think I want to be trampled just to stand outside New York City Hall? You're fucking crazy."

"You curse too much."

"And you bitch too much," he mocked, but she could hear the smile in his voice. She relished it, the way his mouth formed around the vowels, the lilt in his tone. She cherished every bit of him, knowing that this moment would be gone in the blink of an eye.

"You're such a grandpa, Cas."

"All the more reason for you to kindly _not_ see my underwear, thanks."

"We're going!" she declared, fed up with his piss-poor attitude. "Meet me downstairs in five minutes."

"You little piece of s—"

She hung up quickly, cutting him off. Castiel Jackson could cry her a river for all she cared. He'd probably swim in it too. He was like a shark in the water, but in her opinion his only magical power was his ability to be dripping wet behind the ears at all time, the stupid little fucker.

"What are you _wearing?_ " she cackled, eyeing his hastily dressed bright white bottoms. "You look like you're about to do a paint job. Come paint my room, won't you? I was hoping for green."

"Great." He sulked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll choke you with a paintbrush."

"Kinky."

"Stop hitting on me."

She held up her hands in surrender. "Who knows? Maybe in your delusional, 4am state of mind, maybe you—"

"—never gonna happen, kid."

She smirked up at Castiel anyways. "I can wait."

"I'm like three years older than you. You should probably let it go."

"I really, really won't. But you already know that." She winked cheekily.

"I know." He raked his hand through his hair. "And besides, _even_ if it did, a paintbrush, really? You're so weird."

"Speaking of paint, which green do you think I should go with?" she mindlessly asked, leading him up her staircase to her room. Her parents wouldn't really care. They knew Castiel was a perfect gentleman, and he'd never spare her a second glance anyways. It was like fighting a losing battle.

"Puke green," Castiel suggested.

"You're an idiot."

"Thanks. It runs in the family," he dryly remarked.

"Not really. Your brother's kinda cute."

"Oh, great. He's targeted too. And since when has being cute been a solid foundation for intelligence?"

She shrugged. "Since just now." She gingerly stepped over the rubble on her bedroom floor. Castiel frowned in distaste.

"This is terrible."

"Well, rooms tend to look terrible when they're under renovation. Besides," she chirped, "it's not like your room is exactly stellar." She was entirely unbothered; his room always looked like a tornado had swept through it. "Your room constantly looks like a tornado swept through it." She froze up. " _Not_ that I would know anything about it though," she hastily tacked on at the end.

"Stalker," he accused, but it lacked its usual malice.

"I saw you peeking through my window like two hours ago."

She was pleased when his cheeks flushed pink. "I was bored," he weakly defended.

"Whatever, _stalker_ ," she said, throwing his accusations back in his face. He cursed under his breath. "Besides, I called you over because I found something interesting."

"A hairbrush, maybe," he speculated out loud, noting her frizzy locks of brown hair.

"Four in the morning," she cheerfully reminded him.

"I look fine," he insisted. "Your hair, however, is committed to doing weird things." He eyed her again. "Like you."

"Don't hair-shame me, you stale French baguette—oh, here!" She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from the rubbles of her bedroom wall. It was yellowed and old, the ink blurry in a few spots, soaking through the paper. Parchment, actually. It must have been at least one hundred years old. There hadn't been parchment since the Victorian era, as far as she knew.

Castiel curiously inspected it, for the first time, perhaps, actually invested in something she'd shown him. "This might be the first time you've called me over for something cool." He carefully held it in his hands, the parchment stiff and fragile. There was water damage to it too, and she had always known her house was old, but she hadn't realized _how_ old.

"I'm cool."

"Sure, kid."

"Not a kid."

"You're like eight."

"Eighteen," she corrected. "I'm going to college next year," she proudly reported.

He rolled his eyes, gently pushing her away with his hand. He was twenty and had been attending Columbia for a couple years now, studying history and political science. In the fall, she planned to study mathematics, but at what college she wasn't sure yet.

Carefully, Cas unfolded the envelope, his eyes going wide at the signature on the bottom. She was hoping he'd recognize something from one of his big classes.

"Mia," he choked, and when he looked up at her, his sea green eyes were wide like saucers.

"What?" She frowned, peering over his shoulder to see what he had seen. His hands were trembling.

"That name… what does that say?" he asked shakily.

"Jaxon?" she guessed, squinting at the bled-dried ink.

"No," Cas refused, shaking his head in reluctance. "Where did you find this?"

Her forehead crinkled in confusion. She had just found it in the walls while smashing the cement open. She hadn't Cas to have a stroke or something. Maybe he loved history so much he was having a seizure.

"Are you dying?" she quipped, laughing nervously. Something akin to concern filled in her dark blue orbs. His sea green stared back at her, the only time she had ever seen such a green. Cas was adopted, and she could only imagine his birth parents, wherever they were, had equally beautiful eyes. He had kept his last name, and nothing more. Their whereabouts and other information was nowhere to be found, if they were even alive still.

Cas didn't even have to pull out his phone, the facts memorized down to the finer details. "P. Jackson," he clarified. He had been searching for them his whole life, and part of him, it had always felt incomplete. At first, she had helped, eager to win his favor, but she had instead developed quite the crush on him, and they had both forgotten their aspiration to find where Cas hailed from. Castiel had kept searching, but she had long given up, more than satisfied with simply supporting him in his tedious endeavors. She found sorting through paper filled with old names of people who no longer existed boring anyway.

"Jackson? Wait," she laughed. "Your name is Jackson; that's—" Her eyes went wide.

"I hadn't recognized it at first, Mia. He must've dropped his other name. The family name."

"Family?" She knitted her eyebrows together as he scanned the paper, his eyes lighting up with boyish enthusiasm like she had never seen before.

"Annabeth," Cas repeated, scanning the paper excitedly. "Are you fucking kidding me? I have the greatest, great, great, grandparents in the fucking world." His eyes darted across the words once more. " _Miss Chase would smack me_ ," he parroted.

"What are you even talking about?" She smirked slightly, entertained by his shift in demeanor. "Miss Chase understands me."

"Hush for a moment, won't you, Mia?" Castiel grinned shyly to himself. "Come with me." He fished for his keys, carefully holding out the paper like a priceless artifact.

"Where are we going?" She allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Wall street." He was curt.

"Wall street?"

Castiel practically ran down the driveway. She had to sprint, her short legs barely keeping up with his long strides. He carefully put the paper in the inside of his light jacket, the summer air blowing comfortably through their hair.

"Wall street," Castiel explained as they walked down the streets of New York City. "The Federal Hall National Memorial."

"What the fuck?"

"P. Jackson," he whispered to himself in quiet awe. "Perseus Jackson, Mia."

"Who's that?"

"You're a dumbass."

"I like numbers."

"Perseus Jackson _Calbourne._ He dropped the name, and I didn't realize." Had there always been a fleck of gold in those ocean eyes? She was content to be lost in them, even if she had no damn idea what he was going off about.

"Calbourne?" Why did that sound slightly familiar? She tried to remember back to history class, not that she'd been awake in any of them anyways.

"The Calbournes," he breathed, and it sounded ethereal in the late of the night, the dark closing around them, only the city lights bright to lead the way. The stars were clouded by the pollution, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. It was nights like this that made her feel like she was part of something bigger than herself, something just out of reach, and Castiel would always, _always_ be there to lead the way. She subconsciously stepped closer to him, the shadows long in the night, and his presence light despite his dark clothing.

"I've heard of them. What did they do?"

Castiel laughed. "What didn't they do?" he whispered incredulously. She examined him out of the corner of her eye, noting the way the tightness around his mouth relaxed when he was talking about something he loved.

"But more importantly, his wife."

"His wife?"

"Annabeth Chase Ashington. What a woman. I'd never even known."

"What'd she do?"

"She's the reason we live in fifty states, Mia," Cas whispered. He paused in front of the lighted museum, a golden palace on a bright street, but it shone the brightest. She felt small standing there, but he put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

"How?"

"She started and ended the biggest war in all of history," Cas began as they ascended the wide stairs. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but she felt close to him anyways.

"And this letter is from her?"

"From Perseus," Cas corrected. "The historians will really appreciate this. I can already imagine their faces."

"I did good, then?" she inquired tartly.

He grinned at the ground like he thought she wasn't looking, but she was. It made her smile despite herself. "I don't know what kind of freakish luck you have, Mia, but I think I'm in love with… with this letter."

"And me?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling. "Maybe," he answered coyly before darting towards the building.

Her heart felt like it would burst at any second. "Come back, you coward! Face your feelings like a man!"

"I prefer to run away and come back dramatically like all Calbourne men."

She laughed wildly without any care in the world, and she _still_ had no idea what he was talking about as she ran after him, chasing him up the endless flight of stairs. "Tell me more about the Calbournes. I want to know what I'm getting myself into." She was inhaling desperately, out of breath after flagging him down.

"Bold of you to assume you're getting yourself into anything," he snorted, but he smiled down at her. "They represent the best and worst of the entire Victorian era. Some, like Percy, were painted heroes, and some, like Luke, were painted villains. In the end, they were brilliant. All of them. And they were great. Some did terrible things, some changed the world, for the better and for the worse, but they were great. Every single one of them." His eyes shone.

"Are you great?"

"I aspire to be," he replied, his voice bouncing off the tall walls of the museum's classy interior.

Her heart warmed at his words. He would always be great to her, no matter where they went from there. "Does this mean I get a kiss? Because I found your family, and solved all your problems, and saved your life from a hopeless, inevitable downfall."

"We'll see," he said with thinly veiled amusement. She prayed he couldn't hear her heart, palpitating wildly like a crazed schoolgirl. "Their situation started similarly to ours, actually," he mused. "Two brothers and a girl."

"I identify as a trash bag," she interrupted.

"Hush," he cut her off. "The rather obvious difference is that you're not betrothed to my brother, and I doubt he's a psychopath."

She wrinkled her nose. "He pushed me down the stairs. That seems like a warning sign of psychopathic tendencies."

"He was six. And besides, he didn't laugh; I did." He smirked.

"I was five."

"You broke my telescope," Castiel recalled. "I think I might've told him to push you," he admitted.

"Rude," she gasped, laughing to herself. "Besides, it was Fisher Price, not like something expensive."

He sniffed. "Every self-respecting eight-year-old has a Fisher Price telescope to start out with."

That was right. Pointed out his window was some expensive telescope he'd gotten for his fifteenth birthday. He'd shown it to her once, only to look back down from the sky and see her pointing it into her own window from his, pointing to her fish in the fish tank with childlike glee. She suspected he'd used it to peek into her room more times than he'd ever admit out loud, though she had indeed seen him study the stars with such fascination she herself had wanted to love the sky like he did. But she loved him. And it was enough.

She had never known the Calbournes, obviously, and she didn't quite understand yet, but she _wanted_ to, and standing here, looking up at a man who'd walk through heaven and hell for her, she thought a silent prayer of thanks to Perseus Jackson, wherever he may have been, looking upon his descendent from the heavens, and to Annabeth Chase, and to everyone else who had forged this world for her so that she could stand here, simply stand here, and love the people around her, and the future long and bright ahead of her, and the past, filled with good and bad memories, and the present, the true gift, the gemstone hiding in a pile of rocks.

 _Per aspera ad astra._ The words above the carved arch of the museum's north wing seemed to lift off the walls, pressing into her mind. There was old, heavy jewelry around them, like the jewelry of Kings and Queens, and he even led her past a spiky blue diamond crown, placed on a royal blue cushion. There was a spiderweb crack running down the back of it. A broken crown. A broken throne.

The golden bulbs around Cas' head looked like a halo, a ring of heavenly gold curling around his dark hair. She half expected blinding lights to flood down around him, raising him up into the sky as angel wings sprouted from his spine when he looked at her.

Deep in his eyes, the waters calmed, peaceful and thoughtful. If she looked far enough, she imagined she could see everyone before him: his father, and his father, and his father, and his father Perseus Jackson, and his father Poseidon Calbourne, and his father, and his father, and his father, and his…

He reached out a hand for her, ushering her down the long, marble lobby, his white teeth peeking out from his small smile. She glanced one last time at a tall statue of a girl with luscious curls and a dagger in her hand. The marble girl's head was tilted up, and she faced north, as if she was looking at the Latin etched into the smooth stone with fondness. Mia squeezed Castiel's hand with her own, her slender fingers slipping delicately into his outstretched promise.

_Through the thorns to the stars._

* * *

**IV**

**Farewell**

While the Calbourne Civil War officially ended with the abdication of King Perseus Jackson Calbourne, dissolving the Kingdom of Thasite as it was known, the cessation of hostilities did not occur until several years after. The conflict that followed was known as the Waltz War, as each side stepped in a triangle fashion, moving from high points to low points in a fluid, uneven fashion.

Only through the efforts of Canada and the Amazons did the fledgling nations manage to hold off invasion attempts from both Thasite and the Europeans. It was outwardly a defensive war, with the nations maintaining their borders. However, the Amazons, Queen Piper and General Reyna in particular, were often accused of infiltration and interference with sovereign nations, attempting to encourage civilian uprising against monarchy governments. The War of Gold Lightning two decades later would bring those efforts to fruition.

Diplomatic maneuvers were also integral to maintaining a shaky peace in the nations. The once Crown Princess of Sumisu, Drew Tanaka Raya, was ultimately able to intervene on behalf of Canada, Sumisu, and Thasite. She tricked Queens and their successors several times over the course of the Waltz War. Together with the former King-to-be of Thasite, Perseus Calbourne, she was also able to negotiate peace among the former high houses still chafing under reconstruction. Rachel Elizabeth Dare, who was elected to the Canadian office as Prime Minister, was a stalwart ally to the royals of all high houses who gave up their titles.

By the time of Gold Lightning, the nations were largely settled, and therefore escaped much of the turmoil that gripped the Europeans and parts of Asia. Most notable in Gold Lightning was obviously the Storm of the Citadel, a mission to destroy the Europeans' largest military installation. In an assault led by Annabeth Chase and Malcolm Chase, the fortress was torn apart by Ashington-created man made lightning.

The royal nations were not without their own troubles before and during Gold Lightning. There were several royal-led efforts to return a Calbourne to the throne of Thasite, largely in support of Perseus Calbourne's two children as they grew up. Both Jason Calbourne and Charlotte "Charlie" Calbourne broadcasted their own abdication, renunciation of rights, and citizen pledges to the Canadians several times, hoping to quell any conflicts of succession to the former Thasite kingdom. Ironically, Perseus Calbourne was a General in Gold Lightning, as was Annabeth Chase, and both defeated the forces that were hoping to elevate their children to the old Calbourne throne. At present, the nations are governed by a mixed council of elected representatives and military officials. Unlike the Canadians, the nations, renamed the United States of America, also utilize class speakers—two individuals elected from each of the two social groups to represent their own. They are currently Reyna Ramirez with Hazel Levesque, and Chiron Jackson with Silena Beauragard, representing the normal civilians and ex-royals, respectively.

Research into confining scientific madness, like Octavian's episode with immortality, continues to this day in facilities across the continent, with the Canadians leading the charge. The current premier, Jirot-born Nico di Angelo, prioritizes education. The Canadian efforts of discovery are the best funded among the organized nations. Will Solace, head of the laboratories and head surgeon, works closely by his side.

At present, the United States, the European Union, and the Asian Federation stand in alliance with the Free Republic of Canada. All have democratic governments with equality of blood at their cores, unlike the royal-led nations down south. Some detractors accuse Canada of empire building, as it appears to hold sway over the other governments. The balance of power has certainly shifted, and the remaining royal nations strive to maintain peace with the Equal Alliance. Some are making strides toward their own transformations. For example, a few are introducing equality laws and representation for its impoverished citizens, while the ex-Duchess of House Haersley's granddaughter recently married a simple accountant.

Who can say where the paths lead, or how the scales may balance in another decade? I suppose I can, but that is my curse. To watch, to see, until the ending of all things. We destroy. We rebuild. We destroy again. It is the constant of our kind.

We are all a god's chosen, and we are all a god's cursed.

-Tiresias


End file.
